


Second Time Around

by CaraSays



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Chance Meetings, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Press and Tabloids, Sexual Content, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-06-19 07:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15505440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaraSays/pseuds/CaraSays
Summary: They’d never defined what they were – back in the band. “What is this,” Harry would whisper underneath the sheets, the words scattered across Zayn’s collarbone. He should know that it was sex, its what Harry and Zayn have always done together. But Harry asks anyway, because Zayn had told him he loved him once, and Harry’s heart had felt the same.It's three years later and Harry fancies himself a changed man. He cares less about what the world thinks of him, even lesser that Zayn exists. Or maybe he has just fooled himself into that thought process.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry has wondered numerous times what it would be like to see Zayn for the first time. He has imagined scenarios where they don’t even speak to each other, scenarios where he punches Zayn in the face, one where they hug and don’t let go for the longest time. But when it does happen, more than three years after he’d seen Zayn in the flesh for the last time, Harry is completely unsure of what to do.

Zayn is still the same, though. At least he still has the same attitude. Walks into the room like he owns the bloody place. Shrugging at everything and everyone like nothing could bother him, like he couldn’t bring himself to give two fucks about all the people around him. And Zayn is also breathtakingly beautiful. It is no wonder that he thinks the world revolves around him. Even though his hair is lavender in colour, even though he is wearing an ugly yellow shirt, even if his blue jeans are hanging off his waist all wrong, Zayn is easily the most beautiful human being in any given room, at any given time.

And that is saying something, because the room in question at the moment is filled with beautiful people. Harry wonders if he should excuse himself quietly and sneak out before there are half a dozen articles about the two boyband members – correction, ex-boyband members – being in the same room at the same time. But he is also obscenely curious to see how Zayn would react to him. Harry is a bloody fool, its no secret.

Harry watches him for a while, feeling a lot like a stalker. Zayn whispers something in Bella Hadid’s ear and she smiles and nods at him. Gigi, on the other hand, glares at the two of them, before extending a delicate foot and kicking Zayn’s shin, not too subtly. Harry wonders what is going on there and then immediately regrets it. He isn’t supposed to wonder what is going on with Zayn, his girlfriend and her sister. He isn’t supposed to be jealous of their banter. He isn’t supposed to flashback to times when he’s shared private jokes with Zayn at similar parties like these, forced to attend and bored out of their minds. It is too weird now to think about and way too sad.

“A little drool right there.”

Harry jumps at the familiar voice as Kendall nudges him and jokingly wipes something invisible off his chin.

“You’re funny, Jenner. Real funny.”

Kendall laughs. “Do you want to come with me while I go say hi to Gigi and Bella?”

Harry likes Kendall. She is intelligent, sensitive and charitable – three things that are extremely rare in showbiz. She has also known him way too long not to realize that this isn’t the most ideal situation for Harry.

“No, you go ahead,” Harry says in his most nonchalant voice, but it still comes out sounding high-pitched and squeaky.

Kendall looks at him alarmed, as if she hadn’t known his voice could make that sound. “Are you sure?”

Harry nods, giving her a friendly shove forward. Kendall hesitates for a few more seconds and walks off, promising him that she will be back in a few minutes. He’d just started feeling normal, he thinks. Just finishing off his tour, where constantly on edge, because he’d been scared he’d screw something up. But in reality, the tour has given him a kind of confidence he didn’t have before.

“Stay for a while, darling,” his mum had pleaded with him when he’d told her that he was flying to New York and would stay in the US for a while.

“Let him go, mum,” Gemma had said. “He doesn’t know how to be home anymore.” Her voice ratcheted up at the end of her words, the Gemma version of sarcastic, but Harry knows she is right. He really didn’t know how to stay home anymore. He hasn’t stayed in Holmes Chapel for longer than three days in a row ever since he left for One Direction, not even when Robin had passed away.

He stayed in London for a few days after tour, following Nick Grimshaw around, sort of aimlessly. Nick is always giving him advice, or directions, or something. “You’ve got to start dating,” or “you should really take a long break now, Harry.” Harry can’t remember taking a real break and he certainly doesn’t remember going on any real dates.

Zayn’s smiling at Kendall now, hugging her to his side. Harry wonders what that must feel like. Harry wonders what Zayn tastes like now. It’s not even funny how self destructive this kind of behaviour is. Harry knows that, yet he can’t stop with the thoughts. Like moth to the fucking flame.

Zayn has always done this to him – mostly unintentionally. Harry is sure that Zayn has never had any idea what kind of devastating effect he’s had on Harry. In fact, Zayn has no idea about the impact he leaves on people in general. And maybe that’s what has always drawn Harry to him.

They’d never defined what they were – back in the band. “What is this,” Harry would whisper underneath the sheets, the words scattered across Zayn’s collarbone. He should know that it was sex, its what Harry and Zayn have always done together. But Harry asks anyway, because Zayn had told him he loved him once, and Harry’s heart had felt the same.

Zayn had always been good at avoidance. He doesn’t answer Harry’s question. He rolls on his side, his back facing Harry and Harry presses a kiss to it. Harry is a born romantic and this seems romantic to him somehow; like they are two lovers lost in a hotel room with a mile of secrets in between them, can’ts and won’ts, and forbidden stuff; sad music playing softly in the background of some Indie record both of them love.

It is not what they are. They’re bad habits for each other. People to get lost in when the times were tough. Two rich kids – never growing up – who never wanted the wealth (except – they wanted the money, they wanted the possessions, the Gucci and the Armani, and the thousand pound watches, the flights to anywhere in the world) – they loved the fans but weren’t ever sure if they deserved any of it.

Suddenly Harry hates how he is able to feel pain again. He’d got over it. it had taken him so long, sleepless nights, drowning in drinks he didn’t want, writing songs that made his heart crumble, strumming the guitar till his fingers bled or the strings broke. He’d put himself back together, or so he’d thought.

And then, just like a stupid stalker getting caught, Zayn’s gaze lands on him. Harry’s stomach hurts and he is afraid that his brain is about to explode. At the same time, his heart starts to ache. He isn’t sure if it’s a new ache, though. It feels like the same one he’s had for three years now, the one that hasn’t left since Zayn had.

Zayn’s smile sort of freezes in place. But he is still devastating to look at. Harry’s breath is caught somewhere between his throat and his nose, and his heart is in his mouth. Someone shoves him by mistake and he stumbles over his own feet. Maybe he’s had too much to drink. Maybe it’s time to leave.

He makes it to the exit fifteen minutes later, after getting Kendall off his back. He steps into the shadows of the the alley next to the lounge, waiting for his Uber to show up. Two more minutes, he thinks. Two more minutes and this will all be over.

The more he thinks about it, the stupider he feels about walking out like this. He’s not a nineteen year old anymore. He’s supposed to be seasoned and experienced, he’s supposed to know better than to be the first one to run away. He’s not supposed to care. Because Zayn sure as fuck doesn’t.

“Your girlfriend ditch you?”

Fuck. Harry knows who it is. He just doesn’t want to turn around to confirm his suspicions. He prays for his cab to arrive and he could jump in and just flee the scene. He peers into the street and there is still no sign of the Uber. Zayn is stood, leaning against the wall, just two feet away frim him, a cigarette hanging off his lips.

Even in the dim light of the alley, Zayn’s brown orbs stare straight into Harry's soul. His heart lurches and settles somewhere in his throat, somewhere utterly painful. He can't speak, he can't breathe. He feels the world close around him, and for a minute he can't focus on anything except Zayn. But that's how it has always been for Harry. When Zayn is around, everything else ceases to exist for him.

“Did yours?” It’s oddly childish and as a comeback, pathetically weak. But that’s what Harry feels at the moment – pathetic.

“She doesn’t like me smoking.”

Harry hadn’t liked Zayn smoking either, but Zayn had done it anyway. Right in front of him. His gut churns at the realization that Zayn actually cares about what Gigi likes and immediately feels stupid for even caring. “Fat lot of good that’s doing you.”

Zayn snorts. “I can’t give up.”

“That stuff will kill you.”

“Other stuff might kill me faster.”

“Like what?”

Zayn looks at him like Harry is supposed to get what he is trying to say, as if Harry is a fucking mind reader. It annoys him even further. He really should leave. If the Uber doesn’t show up, he can start walking. Anything is better that standing here and staring at Zayn smoking.

Harry chuckles at himself. He knows all of this, yet his stupid feet seem to have permanently stuck themselves to the ground.

“What’s so funny?” Zayn asks, flicking the butt to the ground and stepping over it.

“Actually, nothing. This,” Harry gestures wildly between the two of them, feeling a little bit unhinged. “This is so far from funny that I could actually throw up.”

“Innit, though?” Zayn shrugs and then smirks a little. “Are you saying I make you nauseous now?”

“You disgust me.”

There is a stunned silence in which Harry thinks Zayn looks a little hurt. But the expression is gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by the same nonchalance he’d had a couple minutes back. Harry isn’t sure whether he saw it at all, there isn’t much light in the alley.

“That’s one way to feel about people.” Zayn’s voice is sharper than before.

Why is Harry doing this to himself? Why can’t he just walk away? What is this invisible grip that Zayn still has on him that makes Harry stand there in a dark dingy alley, talking about things that would only make him feel bad about himself later on. It should not be this hard.

“Except I feel nothing about you.”

“Say that to yourself all you want, Harry.”

“Don’t fucking say my name.”

“Walk away then. I’m not stopping you.” Zayn pushes back from the wall and takes a step forward.

“No, Zayn,” Harry sneers. “Walking away is your specialty.”

“Oh, don’t pretend to be what you aren’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“’Treat people with kindness, huh?’” Zayn bites out. “Where did you come up with that? Because you wouldn’t know kindness if it hit you in your fucking balls.”

Zayn has always been smaller than Harry but his presence has always felt huge to him. Like he takes up an entire room. Zayn could walk in and everyone would stare. He consumes every ounce of energy without batting a fucking eyelid. Right now, standing only a foot apart, Zayn looks even smaller, his beautiful face masked in apprehension and it makes Harry’s chest tight, despite his wish that he could ignore it. Zayn looks worried and almost guilty. Harry immediately wonders about his health – both mental and physical.     

 _Don’t get sucked in, mate,_ Harry tells himself. He shifts from one foot to the other and forces himself to ignore any and all signs of Zayn suffering any more than Harry himself is over all this shit – or suffering over anything at all. “I don’t want to even look at a fucking traitor like you,” Harry says.

“Bloody loser,” Zayn mutters at Harry.

“You’re a fucking coward,” Harry snaps. “Always running away when things get tough.”

Zayn leans into him, the slightest hint of his cologne dousing Harry’s nostrils before he takes an unsteady step back. “I’m not the one running now, am I, Harold?”

Damn Zayn and his fucking eyes. He could still melt Harry’s insides into sticky goo. Harry wants to stamp his feet in frustration. “Oh, screw you, Malik.”

“I’ll tell you what, Harry Styles, you go around acting like a perfect gentleman, treating people with kindness. But I dare you to do the same with me. You can’t, can you? Because you’re not who you want everyone to think you are. You’re just a normal guy hating me for what you think I did to you.”

He wants to throw a punch at Zayn. But instead of reacting, Harry gathers himself together, his body rigid enough to shoot an arrow and looks Zayn Malik square in the eye. “I don’t hate you. I couldn’t care less about you.”

“Is that so?”

Harry is mad, furious and ready to spit. But he will be dammed if he let it show in front of the traitor. “You have no idea what I am capable of, Malik.”

Zayn reaches out and grips the lapel of his suit and before Harry knows it, Zayn’s lips were on his. The shock of it barely registers in his brain and this is Zayn, who used to kiss like a dream. This, though, is definitely a dream. He is not letting Zayn kiss him in an alley and is most definitely not kissing him back. God, but he is.

Zayn hums in his mouth, the same sound he always made when he finished listening to a song he really liked, or got the words to a lyric right, or ate a red velvet cake. When he suckles Zayn’s tongue, devouring it in slow sips, Harry forgets everything but his unquenchable thirst for Zayn. The way he angles his lips to fit Harry’s, stifling a groan, the whisper of a whimper that makes Harry hard, even now, so many years later. Zayn makes him feel things he doesn’t want to feel.

Harry jerks back. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this.”

“Wait…”

Harry takes a few more steps back, for safety. Just in case he feels like grabbing Zayn again. He can see Zayn panicking, the careful façade he’s had for so long disappearing beneath a look of confusion and the urge to run.

“I should go,” Harry says, turning away from that face.

“Yeah.”

Harry turns around at the strangled sound Zayn makes. Zayn has his head against the wall, and both his hands are clutching at his stomach. He is breathing weird and it takes Harry more than a minute to realize that Zayn is having a panic attack. It takes him another minute to take a few steps forward and grip his shoulder tight.

“Zayn?”

“Just go, Harry,” Zayn breathes. “Just fucking leave for god’s sake.”

Harry wishes he knew what to say in a situation like this, what maybe Liam would say in the same situation. The right thing, probably, if there's one at all. But Harry is not like Liam. He doesn't know what to say, he never does. And sometimes he doesn't say anything at all and that's worse.

Zayn turns to Harry and stares at him, the slight frown indicating that he is having some deep thought. Then, before Zayn can make a move or Harry can change his own mind, he steps forward and hugs Zayn. He hasn’t hugged Zayn in the longest time and he hopes that it is the kind of hug they would share in the old days when either of them had a rough day. That it's the kind of hug that generally always made Harry feel better in an instant. But Zayn doesn't hug Harry back, instead he struggles against him to get away. But the more he fidgets, the tighter Harry tries to hold on, till Zayn gives up and hugs him back.

Zayn's nose is pressed against Harry's pulse while Harry rests his chin on Zayn’s shoulder. They are so close to each other that even the light wind blowing around would not pass between them. Harry isn't sure how long they stay like that, could be a few minutes, but to him it felt like an eternity. Zayn clears his throat and lets go of him, turning away and running a hand over his face. Harry doesn't miss the way he clears his throat a few more times before turning back to him.

“That was…” Harry starts.

“A mistake.”

Of course. Zayn's face is so much at odds to what Harry remembers him like. Maybe because he doesn’t remember Zayn ever being unhappy upon seeing him. Now he just looks torn and maybe a little scared. Even when Zayn would not like something, he still wouldn’t look like this.

"You're a part of this crazy world now," Harry would always assure Zayn, those times that he got overwhelmed and talked about leaving London for good. Zayn had said that he liked New York and Harry had bought an apartment for him there. He hadn't wanted Zayn to go anywhere without him. That prospect had always kind of scared him. "Paris would be great yeah?" he'd say and Harry would reciprocate by saying that they'd get bored in a month, so that Zayn would laugh a little and let the matter drop.

In One Direction, Zayn had been the one carrying his heart on his sleeve. They’d gone to Africa once and Zayn had broken down looking at the condition of the children in the slums. He’d walked out of the village hospital they’d been visiting and Harry had followed him out. "I'm not crying," was the first thing he had said, even as a few residual tears had trickled down his cheeks. Harry had nodded, had wiped them away and had said, "I believe you." He’d convinced himself that he didn’t deserve the money and the fame when people were suffering so badly. He’d gone into such a funk after that trip that he wouldn’t hang out with the boys, nor would he talk to any of them. Harry had tried cheering him up by using all his contacts and taking him for a visit to the Avengers’ sets in New York. Liam his taken Zayn for a tattoo and Niall had tried with mini golf. Even Paul, their tour manager, had given the boys permission to take Zayn out to his favourite Indian restaurant in London. But nothing had helped. Zayn had carried on like that until Louis had screamed his head off and taken him home to Doncaster for the weekend.

“Why are you standing here?” Zayn asks.

Hell, if he knows. Harry just doesn’t feel right leaving Zayn in a dingy alley, not after he’s just witnessed him having a panic attack. “I have…”

He is cut off by Louis stumbling into the alley, out of the back exit. He spots Zayn first and slaps him in the back so hard that Zayn winces. “Hey bro! Gigi told me you’d be back here.”

“You didn’t tell me you’re coming to this thing,” Zayn says, slipping a hand out of his pocket and gripping Louis’ elbow firmly with it, probably because Louis keeps swaying dangerously on his feet.

“Oh you knob!” Louis laughs for longer than necessary. “Everyone’s here. Like the entire fucking music world. Apparently, so is your best friend.”

Zayn clears his throat. “Who?”

“Oh, you know. THAT one!” Louis waves his hand, gesturing wildly. “Curly! I haven’t seen him though.”

Harry hasn’t seen drunk Louis in ages. Drunk Louis is loud and obnoxious and funnier than sober Louis, which is saying something, because sober Louis is outrageously funny. It’s a knife through his heart how much he misses Louis. And one through his stomach seeing Zayn and Louis banter like old times. He hadn’t known that they have mended their differences.

Zayn shakes his head and nods sheepishly to where Harry is stood.

Louis whips around and his expression is comical. His head swivels between Zayn and Harry several times, before his eyes and brain can connect what’s in front of him. When his brain finally manages the task, his eyes go so wide that it looks like they are about to pop out of their sockets.  "What’s going on here?"

"Nothing," they reply in unison.

Louis narrows his eyes. “Did you two just….” He claps his free hand dramatically over his mouth. “You did, didn’t you?”

“No!” Zayn shouts. “Of course not.”

“How do you know what I mean?” Louis wiggles his eyebrows like the fucking cartoon that he is.

“Nice to see you too, Louis,” Harry mutters sarcastically.

“Oh shut up, Harold. You have become the big rockstar and now you don’t want to mix with us….us.. minions! Think you’re superior? Think you’re…”

“I’m ready to go home, Lou,” Zayn interrupts.

"Oookaay then lets go!" Louis tells Zayn, wiggling out of his grip and turning to Harry. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride too, Harold.”

“No. No, I’ll be fine..”

“Shut up, twat. I have my car at the end of this… this street thing.”

Harry rolls his eyes at how pissed Louis is. His eyes are glassy and he is hopping restlessly on his feet. Harry grabs his waist before Louis falls face first. "How many drinks have you had, Louis?"

"A few," he says and chuckles, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulder. "A few too many."

They step out on the main street and both of them freeze as flashes of camera blind them. Harry staggers back as the shouts from the paps almost deafen him.

"Louis!"

"Harry!"

"How was the party?"

"Is he drunk?"

The two of them make their way to where Louis’ car and his bodyguard, Preston are stood, pushing through the crowd. The shouts are crazy. Just before they could get in the car a man shoves a camera at Louis. The flash is so bright that he stumbles back and would have fallen down if Harry wasn’t holding on to him.

"What the fuck are you doing man?" Louis asks loudly stepping up in front of Harry before the latter can stop him.

The man shrugs. "Doing my job, man."

"Is that your job, yeah? Pushing people?!" Louis shouts furiously. "Thats all you're fucking good for, you fucking loser."

"Just a picture, mate."

"Yeah you're not taking a fucking picture pal. I'll see how you do your fucking job pal. What the fuck are you going to do? Huh?"

Harry puts his other hand on Louis’ back and tries to nudge him forward. He isn't going to let Louis stand there and brawl in public, especially when he is drunk off his arse. "Come on, Louis. Lets go."

"What's your problem man? We just want a few pictures!" The pap shouts back.

Louis shoves him back. "You're my fucking problem, you loser. Get the fuck out of my way and keep your fucking mouth shut!"

"Tommo!" Zayn comes through the crowd and grabs Louis' shoulder. "Cummon mate. Lets go."

"Wait Zayn..." Louis begins.

"Lets go Louis. Now." Zayn firmly pushes him into the car. He places a hand on the small of Harry’s back and gives him a once over before nudging him in as well. And then to Harry’s horror, Zayn gets in after him. "You alright?" He asks Harry.

Fucking hell. Harry’s publicist and his manager are both going to kill him in his sleep the next morning.


	2. Chapter 2

_I’m in New York for a couple more days. Can we meet?_

Zayn blinks at the screen. He hadn’t quite believed his eyes when Harry’s name had come up and his hand shakes – actually shakes – as he opens the text. The substance isn’t exactly friendly, but at least he’d made contact. That’s all Zayn cares about, even though he shouldn’t care at all. For a moment, he even lets his imagination go all the places he’s been wanting to go with Harry since Zayn has last seen him two days ago. 

 _This is Harry_ , he reminds himself.

Zayn’s fingers grip the phone harder as he rereads the text, his initial excitement tempered slightly.

Why did Harry text? What did he want?

Zayn is pretty sure it’s not an olive branch that Harry wants to extend, not even a grudging truce. At least the story of the two of them and a very wasted Louis has not made the papers yet. Zayn doesn’t have a management or a publicist, so he assumes that Harry’s people have taken care of it. Just as well.

If he gets caught anywhere near Harry again, he’s sure the people from his own record label are going to give him a piece of their minds. Once could be an accident. But twice?

That is deliberate action.

Still, Zayn can’t deny the strong urge to see Harry again. He’s always been a sucker for that boy. Having a little self-control when it comes to Harry could have saved him years of heartbreak and agony. Maybe Harry really wants to make nice before they part ways again. Indulge in adult conversation over some kind of beverage then say goodbye.

They can do that.

_Okay. Where? When?_

Zayn’s finger hesitates over the send button. He isn’t sure if he sounds too eager. Fuck it. He hits send. And waits.

Not for long as it turns out, his phone chiming less than a minute later.

_Tonight. Six. I’m at The Mark. Room 924._

_In his hotel room._ Not down at the hotel bar or at a nearby restaurant, or any of the numerous celebrity friendly public places in New York. Zayn swallows. This could mean many things.

 

 

 

 

Harry almost throws up while he waits for the knock on his door. Considering he has quite a strong stomach, that is saying a lot about the internal ruckus currently tying everything in knots.

_Breathe, Harry._

He dragged deep air into his lungs, held it for three seconds and then let it out again.

He knows what he has to do. Open the door. Invite Zayn in. Tell him he wanted to call a truce and maybe, in time, have some semblance of friendship between them.

_Absolutely, do not, under any circumstances, flirt with him, touch him, kiss him._

This isn’t about hooking up even if he is so damn desperate for it he’d probably hump Zayn’s leg the second he opens the door. Harry has to remember why he has called this meeting in the first place. His manager, Jeff, has made it abundantly clear that Harry is not to go within a mile distance of Zayn without informing him first or Jeff would have his head. If he finds out that Harry has invited Zayn into his hotel room, he can only imagine the lecture he is going to receive from Jeff. Besides, deception doesn’t sit well with Harry.

A knock startles him. Fuck, he is suddenly unsure about everything. About the way Harry feels about Zayn now. About the wiseness of this course of action. About the Nike joggers and the white t-shirt he has pulled on after his shower.

A second knock and Harry quickly crosses the room to open the door before the third one. He squares his shoulders. _Just get it over with._

Harry opens the door abruptly. His heart careening crazily in his chest as their gazes lock. Zayn is even more beautiful than Harry remembers and his self-control buries itself under a storm of hormones.

_Do not touch. Do not touch. Do not touch._

Zayn’s hair is wet as if he has just come from the shower, but not feathery and flyaway like Harry’s. No, Zayn’s is damp and gorgeously rumpled. His tanned, tattooed arms, his throat and his face with its perfectly symmetrical three-day growth are achingly familiar and he is wearing the same aftershave he’s worn forever, drenching Harry in headily sexual memories.

_Do not touch. Do not touch. Do not touch._

A lazy half smile and Harry is a goner. “Hi.”

Harry’s resistance snaps so loudly, he’d bet his last pound it would register on a Richter scale in New York somewhere.

He touches. Hell, he grabs.

Harry’s breath rushes out in a whoosh as his hands clutch at Zayn’s waist, then his chest, then his shoulders. He isn’t sure who kisses who first, just that their lips meet and Harry is moaning and Zayn is groaning and all the worry and doubts and denial are forgotten as he feeds on Zayn’s mouth.

“Fuck.”

Harry’s lips vibrate with Zayn’s guttural profanity as he steps into the room, kicks the door shut and presses Harry against it, their bodies flush against one another.

“Jesus, Harry.” Zayn is panting as he tears his mouth away. “I can’t be doing this.” But then his mouth slides to Harry’s neck, his teeth scraping along the mad flutter of Harry’s pulse.

“I know.” Harry angles his neck to give Zayn more access, his heartbeat roaring in his head like a waterfall, his breathe squalling like a hurricane in his lungs.

He does know. Neither of them should be doing this. But Harry’s body feels like it’s starved of Zayn – of his touch – for so long, and he is powerless to resist. “I’ve just…” Harry breaks off. Zayn feels so good against him, so hard, its unbelievable. “I’ve missed this.”

Zayn lets out a strangled kind of oath and then he is kissing Harry again, knocking his head back against the door with a thunk he barely registers, thrusting his tongue in and out of his mouth, doing with it what Harry wants Zayn to be doing with his dick.

Zayn groans again and pulls away, shaking his head. “We really should stop.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck,” Zayn says again, still not letting Harry go. His brown eyes are so dark, they are almost black now. He shakes his head like can’t wrap his head around what is happening. “I want you so fucking much.”

He slams his lips on Harry’s and he doesn’t let up this time. Zayn kisses him like he is starving. Harry’s senses are full of Zayn, the sound of his breath, the taste of his mouth, the intoxicating essence of him invading Harry’s sinuses until Zayn is inside his head.

 

 

 

 

“Tell me to leave,” Zayn whispers. He has no idea what is happening to him, what Harry is doing to him. He’ll leave if Harry asks him to.

Harry shakes his head slowly, his hand slipping to Zayn’s shoulder, the slight dig of his nails reminding Zayn of how good they were together. “Stay.”

He draws in a ragged breath, their gazes locked as his hand slips inside Harry’s joggers and finds his dick. Harry’s eyes widen and his breath hitches, and Zayn’s heart just about bursts through his chest at the sight of him.

 Fuck.” Zayn groans and a few drops of precum coats his fingers. “You’re so hard.”

Harry backs Zayn to the bed, all the while managing to get rid of his shirt and his pants. Zayn almost smiles. He’s always made fun of Harry’s eagerness. Then his hands were between them, plucking at the tie of Zayn’s tracks and unzipping his fly and pulling his aching dick out of his underwear.

Harry plants a hand in the centre of his chest and gives him a shove. Zayn collapses back onto the mattress, his dick straining against the flat surface of his belly as Harry looks at it like he is preparing to devour it. 

“I’ll ruin you for everyone else,” Harry whispers. He plants a knee on the mattress between Zayn’s legs. “Shuffle back.”

Zayn shuffles back, his eyes glued to Harry as he follows him up on the bed on all fours. Zayn stops when his head hits the pillow. So does Harry, settling on his haunches between Zayn’s legs. Harry’s finger, cool as ice and twice as smooth, lands on the hypersensitive tissue where the thick bulb of his head meets the shaft.

Zayn’s eyes almost roll back in his head as Harry’s fingers curl around his dick and slides up and down, taking their damn time exploring the length of him. Zayn fists his hands into the sheets. And then Harry’s hot mouth is on his balls sucking them both into the cavern of his mouth. Zayn groans, his head flopping back against the pillow, his hands running a hand through Harry’s hair. Harry rolls them in his hand and laves them with his tongue, tripping every pleasure sensor Zayn possesses.

Zayn’s heart hammers way beyond his heathy cardio range as Harry plays between his legs until Zayn doesn’t think he can take it anymore. “Fuck Harry!” He shuts his eyes as the hard edge of bliss takes him to another dimension.  

“Condom,” Harry whispers. With the minimum amount of movement, he locates a condom and a tube of lube in the bedside drawer and rolls the condom on, all without taking his eyes off Zayn. “Spread your legs.”

Zayn’s pulse spikes at the rough command, but he spreads them. And then, Harry’s gaze boring into his, his knee is on the bed, and then his body is on Zayn’s, and then Harry’s mouth is on his. On his lips and his throat, while he works in the lube. Zayn is gasping and arching off the bed, one hand sunk in Harry’s hair, the other clutching one firm arse cheek as Harry’s dick slides through his slick heat between Zayn’s legs, prodding, thick and hard at his entrance.

Zayn spreads wider for him as Harry’s hips flex, and he is inside Zayn, thrusting deep. He cries out at the intrusion stretching Zayn so damn good.

“It’s okay, baby,” Harry whispers against his lips. “I got you.”

And he does. He has Zayn, completely and utterly. Harry has him quick and dirty, his hand moving between them to tug at his dick which is hard again. It takes five strokes to catapult Zayn’s orgasm.

It doesn’t take Harry long to follow, thrusting with deadly precision until he tears his mouth from Zayn’s and groans his release into the side of Zayn’s neck. Harry’s breath is hot as he takes them all the way to the finish line, drowning them in pleasure.  

 

 

 

 

It appears, a couple of hours later, that Zayn had been too optimistic when he had assumed that Harry’s management had taken care of the situation with the press and the photos. He was summoned by Jeff Azoff, Harry’s manager, at the Full Stop Management offices in New York only minutes after he returns home from Harry’s hotel room. He considers not turning up, until Jeff texts him that it’s an order from Sony, the record label he shares with Harry. 

Which is why Jeff now has them locked in an office together to sort out the mess. Zayn isn’t having any of it. To say that Harry feels the same is an understatement.

“Unlock the fucking door,” Harry tells Jeff, his voice deceptively calm.

But having spent years knowing him, Zayn recognises the signs of an impending explosion. His jaw is set. His nostrils are flaring. His dark hair is falling in his gorgeous green eyes, and he hasn’t bothered to toss it out of the way. The only part of his body that moves is his thumb, tapping up and down rapidly on the worn denim covering his knee. He is refusing to look at Zayn and that serves to make Zayn’s temper flare right along with his.

“No,” Jeff says firmly. Zayn has known Jeff for as long as Harry has, if one left out the three years of silence in the middle. He might even have called Jeff a friend earlier because they’d all hung out together. “We’re sorting this out today, Harry Styles, because the photos are going to be plastered all over the internet by tomorrow morning. The label wants you both to come up with a song for charity and we need to put out a statement. We are absolutely not having a story where Zayn says something like you two never spoke and Harry looks like he cannot care two fucks about his bandmate going through anxiety and an eating disorder. I’ve had it with you two acting like two twelve-year olds.”

Zayn shifts uncomfortably in the chair in front of Jeff’s desk. The idea of writing and recording with Harry again makes him feel like throwing up because of the nerves.

“Jeff, in case you haven’t noticed, Zayn and I can’t stand each other. How do you expect us to write and record together?” Harry’s voice is more than a little irritated.

Okay, that hurts. Right in that sack of stupid called his heart. Harry doesn’t have to be so blunt about it. The thought makes Zayn squirm in his chair. He crosses and re-crosses his legs. “And its not even in my contract to collaborate with someone just because the label wants me to.”

“Yeah, because you have been collaborating with such geniuses, haven’t you?” Harry says flatly. “Real music, right?”

The bastard. Pretentious as hell, with his nose so far in the air, it’s a wonder he doesn’t fall over backwards. “I’m not ashamed of the fact that I like music that may not be what the kids are listening to right now,” Zayn bites back. “And I may not be touring, but I’m still happy with what I am doing. So sue me.”

“You have a record label and you have to do what they want,” Jeff reminds them.

So therefore, there isn’t much choice but to write a song and record it. Harry shoots him a look that is damn near panicked.

“I guess we could, if it’s for a charity that we both are proud of,” Zayn says. “A charity for kids, I think.”

A sliver of amusement crosses Harry’s face. “Yes. And the label doesn’t get a dime.”

“You can have whichever charity you want, you fuckers.” Jeff looks positively gleeful as he slaps his hand on the desk.

“This is not the best idea, though, Zayn.”

“We had all sorts of ideas together back in the days, good and bad. What’s a few more?” Zayn almost chokes on his own words.

It’s hard to imagine that they can produce anything other than bad feelings.

 

 

 

 

“This is the worst idea we could ever have,” Harry says, drawing long and slow so Zayn wouldn’t see how rattled he is. A locked door. Pressure from their label. They’d just had sex in his hotel room. Sex that has left Harry completely mind-fucked. He is more than a little unnerved. 

“When and where are we going to do this?” Zayn addresses Jeff instead of him.

“What do I know?” Jeff shrugs. “I suggest that you both take your arses somewhere private and start coming up with something good.”

“Here, in New York?” Zayn asks.

Harry balks. Staying in New York would be like staying in the scene of the crime. Besides, New York feels unfamiliar and too much like Zayn’s territory. But he isn’t about to admit that out loud. Allowing himself to be that vulnerable again?

“No,” he says. “It has to be London.”

He catches a flicker of doubt on Zayn’s face. “Why London?”

“I’m not doing it anywhere else.” It is false bravado, of course. The stubborn last protest of a drowning man.

“You don’t have a choice,” Jeff reminds him. “Why London?”

“Because I promised that Gemma I will be there for her birthday.” Which is a bald-faced lie, but both Zayn and Jeff seem to buy it.

“Fine. London, then,” Zayn agrees grudgingly.

“Jeff, can you give us a minute?”

Jeff eyes Harry suspiciously.

“What? I’m not going to trash your office or strangle Zayn.”

Jeff snorts. “If anyone is going to strangle either one of you two, it’s going to be me. Get your act together,” he says, pointing first at Harry, then at Zayn and leaves his office.

“What is it?”

Harry turns his chair a little so he is facing Zayn almost straight on, their knees bumping. “I have a demand.”

“What?”

“Don’t open your mouth about what happened in the hotel to anyone.”

“Of course not, Styles. I’m not proud of it either. Another mistake.”

And god knows why, Harry feels a little gutted.

 

 

 

 

MALIK AND STYLES: IS THIS THE COLLABORATON OF THE YEAR?

One Direction fans will be delighted to hear that their two favourites, Harry Styles and Zayn Malik will be releasing a charity single soon. Now, of all the combinations we had expected, this is probably the last one. But yes, its true.

The RnB artist who is set to release his sophomore album soon was seen exiting a party with two of his former bandmates, Harry and Louis Tomlinson recently. Maybe Louis is the one who mediated this little truce because they are reportedly donating to Louis’ charity, The Little Angels Trust, which helps out kids with kids. As exciting as this news is, we are even more excited about the fact that we finally have a collaboration from two One Direction members.

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Louis does exactly what he has always done to make Zayn believe that the world isn’t coming to an end. He walks down to Louis’ hotel and has breakfast with his no longer estranged best ate. Louis’ girlfriend, Eleanor Calder is there too and Zayn is glad to be able to catch up with her. She feeds Zayn a tonne of food and asks him all sorts of questions. As soon as she leaves to go shopping after breakfast, Louis turns to Zayn with a frown.

“You and Harry had sex last night, didn’t you?”

Zayn stutters and looks away. Louis smacks him hard on the head. “Ow! What did you do that for?”

“Ow? You fucker!” Louis fumes. “I could throw you off a fucking cliff right now, Malik!”

Zayn knows why Louis is mad, because Louis is probably the only one among the boys who knows exactly how far gone Zayn had been for Harry. It’s shameful, really. He is an adult. He should be able to resist the boy who had crushed his heart and shredded it into pieces. But Zayn stands no fucking chance. He and Louis both know that as well as they know their own names.

“I know it was unbelievably stupid, Louis.” To his utter horror, he feels a wetness in his cheeks, which he swipes off indignantly. He cannot be crying over this. “I should have fucking stayed away.” He digs his fingernails into his palm, hoping that the pain there would ease the one in his heart. He isn’t that lucky.

Louis pats him on the back gingerly. “Oh, you poor sod.”

“Now I have to go to London for this stupid song.”

“You’re not flying down to London alone in this state.” Louis dead-pans, like he is authorized to make that kind of a decision for Zayn. “You can travel with El and me, tonight.”

“I have to move my shit back into Gigi’s apartment,” Zayn hedges on. He doesn’t want to go to London. London has memories and London has Harry. He is safer in New York – memoryless and definitely Harryless.

“Buy new shit.” Louis glares.

Zayn fiddles with the coffee mug Eleanor had handed him. It is half full, the coffee now so cold it probably tastes like piss. He pushes it away. “He was my first, you know. He was my only.”

Louis frowns and then he catches the meaning behind Zayn’s words and his eyes widen. “You mean… you’ve never..?”

Zayn shakes his head.

“Not even when you left One Direction?”

“Not even then.” Zayn has never felt towards another boy what he had felt for Harry. There had been women, of course. But he had drawn the line there.

Louis looks stumped for a minute. Zayn looks away from him. He is fucking miserable. He’d lost his heart at eighteen to the golden boy of the band, the perfect popstar, with dreams that could fill an entire planet. To the boy who had everywhere to be and everything to see. Zayn isn’t like that. He has always been content in his own small world. There were times when Zayn had had difficulty keeping up with Harry. On stage, when Harry would jump around pumping his hands and doing his weird dance moves. With fans, always eager to do anything to make them smile, take a photo, give a hug. He’d say ridiculous things in interviews and people would eat up that shit right up like it was Ferrero fucking Rocher. Zayn would be playing with Lux and suddenly Harry would be there, swooping her away and she’d forget all about Uncle Zayn.

The catch was Harry had always found him though. When Zayn would get tired playing in a pool and retire to his hotel room, Harry would turn up minutes later. Harry would pull up a chair next to him at a pub if Zayn was sat in a corner. Harry would make sure his parents and his sister met Zayn every time they were around. While Louis always made Zayn have fun and pulled him out of his shell, it was Harry who made sure that Zayn was never alone.

“I can’t stay in London, Louis,” is all Zayn can say. “I moved to LA because I couldn’t stay there. Not when Harry is there.”

“You can’t arrange everything in your life to avoid Harry, Zayn,” Louis insists. “That is stupid and completely unnecessary.”

“I have to. I can’t go through this again.”

Louis hesitates and then seems to put his foot down. “You can stay with me in London, Zayn. You don’t have to live alone or in a hotel. You can do it. Act normal even if you don’t feel it.” He grips Zayn’s neck and gives it a comforting squeeze. “Fake it till you make it, remember?”

Zayn shakes his head again, not having the heart or the strength to fight with Louis over this. Because Louis would fight, he’d fight till it went his way. He’d fight till Zayn gives up and listens to him. Louis thinks that he always knows what is best for the boys, which, Zayn would admit, is mostly true. 

“Why’d you have to move back with Gigi?”

“Because what if the rumours start again, by any chance? Jeff’s not taking a chance. And Gigi’s publicist and mum say that it’s good for both our careers.” Zayn sighs. “She’s delighted about this song, though. And she said if I don’t straighten things out with all you guys then she’d have to do something about it. And she’s not too subtle.”

Louis laughs. “I like her, I think.”

“She helped me get rid of my management.”

“And?”

Zayn groans in frustration and scrubs a hand over his face. “I was fine before I saw him at that fucking party. Fuck, Louis! I was doing fine. I had my timeline ready for my releases. I was eating again. Fuck, I was sleeping again. Liam’s management was ready to take me on. And then bam!”

Louis nods.

“He’s like a fucking freight train.” Zayn runs both his hands through his hair, furiously. “He was in the fucking alley. He texted me to ask if I could meet. Did he think I would say no? That bastard. He ruined everything. Again.”

 _I’ll ruin you for anyone else._ Fuck. Zayn had been ruined for anyone else way way back.

“You are fucked is what you are, mate.” Louis declares. “You are fucked. There is nothing I can do about it.”

And as usual Louis is right. Zayn is well and truly fucked.


	3. Chapter 3

 

**Flashback -**

 

_Harry is well aware of the fact that Louis is angry at him, he just doesn’t understand why. Not that he is much bothered about it. Louis tends to lose his temper over the most insignificant of things recently, ever since he’s got that woman pregnant. Harry isn’t bothered about that either. Yet, he watches through the corner of his eyes as Louis sits down at their makeshift breakfast table, gesturing wildly with his hands as Niall just shakes his head._

_Something seems off about the small gang gathered for breakfast this morning. Harry couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Nobody seems to be looking at each other right and everyone seems a little fidgety. Truth is, nobody wants to finish this tour and they aren’t even halfway through it yet. They have just finished off in Australia and are currently in Asia. Harry is just done with the band. He is done with the band’s management. He wants out from the restrictions, the endless commitments and the long long flights._

_But it isn’t getting over anytime soon for them. They are slated to release their next album in November of that year and Harry hasn’t even started writing. He doesn’t feel inspired at all and when he had shared those concerns with Zayn one night, he had snorted derisively._

_“They don’t care about your lyrics, Harry,” Zayn had said, his tone surprisingly bitter. “They’ll take whatever you write.” He had soothed the harshness of his words by trailing his smooth fingers over Harry’s bare spine._

_Harry had turned on his back to look Zayn in the eye. “Why do you say that?”_

_Zayn had shrugged and buried his head in the pillow. “Doesn’t matter, I guess. Not anymore.”_

_Harry hadn’t asked him what he meant, because he’d been distracted by Zayn’s mouth against his collar bone._

_He walks to the small table now and sits down, leaving a space for Zayn beside Liam. Niall and Louis stop speaking, but don’t bother greeting him. Liam looks at Harry through red rimmed eyes, but he doesn’t ask why. Liam has just broken up with his girlfriend Sophia, and he seems to be unusually upset about it recently. Harry wishes Zayn would hurry up and join them. He even considers giving him a call to wake him up, but changes his mind, thinking that Zayn needed the rest. He hasn’t been eating or sleeping properly recently._

_Harry pours out his cornflakes and milk, trying his best to ignore Louis’ glare. He looks at their hair-stylist Lou Teasdale and her daughter, Lux. The four-year-old is crying, bawling actually, which is completely unlike the little one._

_“What’s wrong, love?” he asks her, tapping a gentle finger against her nose._

_“I want Zaynie!” she exclaims, struggling against her mother’s hold. “Want Zaynie now!”_

_It isn’t really unusual for Lux to want Zayn’s attention because they are tight. She has her meals with him every day and she is the only one in the world who could convince Zayn to enter a swimming pool. Although, Harry has never heard her crying about it. “Okay, Lux, let’s go get him, shall we?” He extends a hand for her to hold._

_Louis makes a loud noise which seem to be something between a growl and a snarl as he pushes his cereal bowl away so hard that half the milk spills on the table. Harry decidedly ignores him._

_Lux looks at him with water-filled blue eyes and says, “Zaynie gone.”_

_“Gone where?” Harry looks at Liam and then Niall, hoping for a sane explanation for where Zayn could have gone in the middle of a world tour._

_“He left,” Lou Teasdale whispers, trying to placate Lux. “The band,” she adds, as if by now it wasn’t clear to Harry._

_Louis pushes back his chair and stands up so fast that it topples to the ground. “Fuck you Styles! You’ve ruined everything!”_

_Harry feels winded like someone has sucker punched him. His heart is beating like it’s was trying to jump out of his chest. He watches quietly as Liam and Niall get up and walk away too, the latter patting him on the back before leaving. Harry doesn’t know what to do. How could Zayn leave? Why did he leave?_

_“You okay, Harry?” Lou asks, placing a hand on his shoulder._

_“You’re all red, Uncle Haz,” little Lux says, peering at his face quietly._

_Harry stands up abruptly, and excuses himself. He reaches Zayn’s room in record time, the same room he’s left early the previous night because Zayn had insisted that he would sleep better alone. And he’d left, without a question, without even considering once that Zayn normally never preferred sleeping on his own. Harry is so angry now, as he peels off the covers from the bed, hoping, praying he’d left something behind. But it’s all gone now. Zayn’s suitcases, the clothes that were always littered all over the floor, his cigarettes and lighter on the table next to the bed. He’s emptied out everything. He smashes the bedside lamp against the wall and the loud sound does nothing to soothe the ache that is building up in his chest._

_“Fucking hell.” Harry drops down on the bed and clutches at his hair. Zayn has really left him. Left him to deal with a tour he doesn’t want to continue and an album he doesn’t want to write, with bandmates who are barely speaking to him. He isn’t sad though. He was mad, so so angry at Zayn that he can barely breathe. He makes up his mind never to speak to the traitor again. Zayn doesn’t deserve his loyalty. He left without a word. He just fucking left._

_Over the next few shows, he pretends like Zayn had never existed. He goes backstage every single time before ‘Little Things’ because he cannot bear to hear Niall say the words Zayn used to. He throws up the first time he sings Zayn’s solo in Ready to Run. The day his mic isn’t working and the crew hands him Zayn’s yellow one, he completely freaks out. It’s hell. Pure unadulterated version of hell. Louis gets angrier every day, the more he is asked about his impending fatherhood and his broken friendship with Zayn, every time he has to nod and say that he was the one closest to Zayn in the band. Niall just crosses his arms and shrugs at everything, mostly not paying attention to anything that is happening around him, getting unbelievably mad one day at a crew member who wanted to clear out Zayn’s space in their tour bus. His laughter seems less contagious and even less frequent. Liam is quieter and gets annoyed at the slightest of things, he handles the interviews like a pro and treated every meeting with their management like it is a meeting with the devil, he screams, shouts and refuses to do anything he is told to. Truth is, they aren’t One Direction anymore._

 

 

 

 

 

London holds too many memories for Zayn, good and bad, the greatest ones with his band-mates. They had started in London and for years it had been home for all five of them. Zayn isn’t sure anymore. He isn’t sure where his home is, he isn’t sure if he still has one. He loves New York City, of course. It is the closest he’d come to being able to call a place home in years. The anonymity and acceptance of the people there is unbelievable. But it isn’t London. Madison Square Garden isn’t the O2 Arena and the Empire State Building isn’t the Big Ben. It just isn’t the same.

 

He sneaks a glance at Louis, who has had his bodyguard Preston pick them up from the airport and take them to his place, where Zayn is supposed to stay over the next few days. “Tommo,” he starts, not even sure what he wants to say to his best mate.

 

“This is the best thing for you right now, Zayn,” Louis says, predicting the protest that is on the tip of Zayn’s tongue.

 

“It’s been a long time we’ve been in London together, innit?” Zayn says sheepishly, feeling nostalgic.

 

“It’s home. In spite of what you may think or like to believe.”

 

Zayn knows exactly what Louis means to say. Ever since Zayn left One Direction, Harry and Louis has had a massive fallout, for reasons unknown to Zayn. Harry has started spending most of his time in LA and then, after the hiatus  when Harry had permanently moved to LA, Zayn who had been living there for a year and a half, had promptly moved to New York. The media had said it was because his girlfriend Gigi Hadid lived there, and that explanation had suited Zayn just fine. Now they have separate territories – Louis got London, Harry got Los Angeles and Zayn New York in the One Direction divorce.

 

“Are you feeling better now? Even slightly?” Louis asks.

 

“It comes and goes. There are good days and bad.” Zayn shrugs, wishing Louis wouldn’t prod. The constant enquiries about his health gets on his nerves. He knows that Louis is concerned and means well, but he doesn’t want pity from his best mate.

 

“You’re a shit liar, mate.”

 

“Let it go, man.”

 

“And on other news, this new management firm you’re hiring, also represents Harry. Just letting you know.”

 

Zayn did know already, but that doesn’t stop his heart from dropping down to his stomach at the mention of Harry. “What?” he asks, stupidly.

 

“Harry Styles, you know.” Louis raises his eyebrow. “Our ex bandmate. The one you, just like the moron you are, banged recently. The one who…”

 

“Louis.” Zayn says. “I get it. And I know. I spoke to Jeff. He told me he won’t be handling my business. It’s going to be a woman named Glenne.”

 

“Who happens to be Jeff’s girlfriend,” Louis snickers.

 

“He didn’t mention that.” Zayn shrugs. “And what does that matter anyway. I’m a professional and so is she.”

 

“Shit liar,” Louis mutters, the sarcasm evident.

 

Zayn groans, trying to ignore the pounding headache he is starting to get. Maybe coming back to London isn’t the best thing for him after all. Maybe he should have stayed where he was, making music and keeping out of everyone’s way. “I can’t believe that clause expired finally.”

 

“Syco cheated you out of a shitload of money, Zayn.” Louis huffs, as he swerves to park the car in front of his building. “They are bloody looters and you didn’t do anything about it. You didn’t even have the brains to use a proper fucking lawyer.”

 

“Just let it go, Louis.”

 

“You shouldn’t even have agreed to …”

 

“Louis, please, just forget it, man.” Zayn sighs. “It’s been three years now. Three years. I don’t fucking care about the bloody money.”

 

“Only people who have too much of it say such shit,” Louis snaps.

 

“Louis.”

 

“Fine. Fine!” Louis throws his hands up in the air in mock surrender. “At least you’re here now and that’s how its going to be from now on.”

 

They sit there in silence after that. Zayn still isn’t sure about the London thing, but truth be told, Zayn misses the city and he misses the familiarity of having Louis around as his best friend. “You agreed to one day at a time, Tommo,” he says, knowing full well that Louis hadn’t meant it when he had made the promise of not forcing Zayn into any decision.

 

Louis grins widely, the first genuine smile he’d given since they’d got on the car. “You know me, ZeeMan. I’m a man of my…”

 

He is interrupted by a loud noise of shouting people and before they know it, the car is surrounded by a huge number of photographers.

 

“Shit!” Louis exclaims, looking left and right frantically. “Shit! What the fuck?!”

 

Zayn ducks his head as the flashes go off all around them. Of course, his coming back to London isn’t going to be a quiet affair, not after getting papped with Louis Tomlinson. Nope, he is pretty sure that it is gong to be a full-blown controversy theory by this time tomorrow. Between Louis’ continuous cursing and the paparazzi’s incessant shouts, he begins to regret coming back to London again.

 

 

 

**Flashback** **-**

 

_To say Zayn is surprised to see Louis in his LA home, pacing across the living room floor, is a gross understatement. His housekeeper told him, upon opening the door that an old friend had come to visit. Louis is the last person he’d expected._

_Zayn watches him for a while, and then steps forward. “You alright, Louis?”_

_Louis’ head snaps to him and he blinks rapidly, as if making sure he isn’t imagining him. “Hi, Zayn.”_

_They both sit down on the opposite ends of the couch, not sure how to proceed. Zayn clears his throat loudly. “How you been?”_

_“Don’t pretend like you give a fuck about how I have been,” Louis retorts with a glare._

_“Of course, I care. You are still my best friend.”_

_“Sure didn’t seem like it when you were shooting your mouth about how you never wanted to be in the band.”_

_Zayn breathes a deep sigh, wishing they weren’t talking about this now. They have met after so long. He doesn’t want to fight with Louis, nor does he want to lie to him. “I was talking about the music. All of you knew it wasn’t my style.”_

_Louis jumps up from his place. “You know what, Zayn? This was a bad idea. And just for the record, fuck you! Fuck you for not being there when I needed my best friend. Fuck you for running off when things got tough. Fuck you for saying I was your best friend when you couldn’t be mine.” He is shouting by the time he is done._

_Zayn stands up too and makes to touch his shoulder. “Where are you going?”_

_Louis jerks back from his touch. “Don’t touch me! I hate you!”_

_Zayn is startled at the childish declaration. “Suit yourself. I give up.”_

_Louis snorts. “That’s new.”_

_“Excuse me, Louis?”_

_“You heard me.”_

_Zayn is now a little mad too. “No, I don’t think I did, because that’s fucking rich coming from you.”_

_“Me?” Louis yells. “I’m not the one who left, you fucking traitor! You left us, you bastard! Not the other way around.” He punctuates his words with several shoves at Zayn._

_“I just left the band, not you all. I tried to keep in touch. Unlike some people who act like they are too good to send a fucking text or receive a call.” Zayn backs this up with a shove much harder than the ones he has received from Louis._

_He stumbles back, but that doesn’t stop him from retaliating. “Don’t put this on me as if I ruined our friendship. You knew what you were doing when you left!”_

_“This is your fucking fault, Louis. You shut me out! You started that shit drama on Twitter! We’re here like this because of you!”_

_Louis looks shocked for a minute and then raises his hands in surrender. “I’m outta here.”_

_“What?”_

_Louis looks at Zayn like he is ready to throw a punch. “Are you dense? I’m getting out of your stupid house.”_

_“Sit your arse back down, Louis.”_

_Louis stays quiet for a while, glaring at Zayn and then with a huge sigh, sits down. “Fine.”_

_And Zayn feels a relief he hasn’t felt in the longest time. “I’m sorry.”_

_“You’re what?”_

_Zayn sighs, knowing well enough that his apology sounds empty. And it is never going to be enough for what he has put the boys through. “I wish it had been different.”_

_“No, you don’t, you fucker! You’re quite happy in this world with your no. 1 album and your supermodel girlfriend and your stupid arse shoe collection.”_

_“Shut up, Louis!”_

_“I’ve been shut up for a long time. It’s about time you shut your mouth.” Louis shakes his head. “You destroyed us,” he says, his voice now barely above a whisper. “You finished everything. We used to be the tightest bunch and now we can barely stand each other.”_

_Zayn ducks his head, not having any idea that things were as bad as Louis describes. “Louis…”_

_“No, Zayn, you destroyed us,” Louis repeats. “And the next day we had to act like nothing happened.”_

_Zayn looks at Louis, realizing what a mess things are. Here he is, sitting with his best friend, barely able to have a civil conversation. The tension and unspoken grievances hang in the air like a thick cloud. But he understands Louis’ frustration. He understands Louis because he has spent years with him, letting him vent, being his sounding board whenever he had needed one. He used to know exactly when Louis would snap. He’d see the signs and try his best to calm Louis down before he actually blew up, because Louis had a massive temper. “Its alright, Tommo. I understand.”_

_“You always fucking do this, Zayn!” Louis runs a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”_

_“Come on, Louis, don’t be stupid.”_

_“Mum’s dying.”_

_Zayn’s world tilts as he stares at Louis rubbing a hand over his forehead, as if trying to change his luck. He is sure he hasn’t heard right. Because… because Jay is like a mum to him. “What do you mean?”_

_“Leukaemia. Last stage.” Louis blinks, dashing a hand on his eyes. “Fuck. She doesn’t have long. Seven us of and we didn’t have a matching bone marrow. What is wrong with this world? Why does everything have to be so fucked up?”_

_“I’ll get tested,” Zayn says instantly, gripping Louis’ shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Louis. I love Jay. I’m so incredibly sorry.”_

_“Too late now for a transplant. Thanks for offering though.” Louis gives a tight smile. “She sent me here, you know. Called me names for being a jerk to you.”_

_“Can I visit?”_

_“Of course. She’ll love it.”_

_Zayn hates seeing Louis this way – sad and defeated, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “You remember when we got our first tattoo?” He doesn’t know why he suddenly brings it up, but he remembers the day like it was yesterday._

_Louis chuckles. “I was so scared mum would kick me out of the house.”_

_And he had been. Completely freaked out over how his mum would hate the thing. He’d gone on and on all the way from the tattoo studio to their hotel about the excuses he’d make to his mum when she saw it. When she called him that evening, he’d thrown his phone down from the balcony of their hotel room in panic and broken the damn thing. “You were convinced she was a psychic because she always knew when you did something wrong,” Zayn says with a laugh._

_Louis laughs too. Loud and happy. “We were idiots, yeah?”_

_There is another long pause and then Louis says, “Niall hates you the most, you know.”_

_Zayn flinches. The idea of the Irish lad hating him is way more painful than he would ever admit “Why him?”_

_“Because he kept hoping you’d be back.” Louis snorts. “He’d look up hopefully every time a meeting was called and then be disappointed. It was difficult to watch, to be honest.”_

_“Shit.”_

_“Liam took it the best, I think. He understood why you had to leave. He tried to explain it to us.” Louis gives a humourless laugh. “Harry was the worst. Fucking worst. He’d cry and scream and not even admit it was because of you. He was so drunk the rest of the tour. Its not like he wasn’t a major reason for you leaving.”_

_“He really…”_

_“Save it, Zayn.” Louis holds up a hand._

_“And you?”_

_“I had to take care of those fuckers, didn’t I?”_

_Zayn nods, knowing that Louis is deflecting. “You always did, Louis. You always did.” He pauses, then glances sideways at him. “So, since we are both in LA, are you going to introduce me to your son?”_

_Louis shrugs. And his nonchalance makes Zayn wonder. He’d had years of knowing Louis and he loves kids. The way he is reacting to his own child, is surprising to say the least._

 

 

 

 

Niall Horan assumes that there are worse things than knocking on your ex-girlfriend's door and not getting a response. It certainly beats getting papped while knocking on your ex's door and her kicking you out in front of the cameras. At least there are no cameras. Or witnesses. Yet.

 

As he lifts his hand to knock again, he wonders whether he should just leave and possibly never come back. But then the door swings open and the shocked look on Gemma Styles' face is almost worth the wait outside.

 

Her mouth drops open in surprise. And if her eyes widen any more they would pop right out of her skull. It is actually rather adorable, just like all things Gemma. She looks gorgeous even in her pajamas and her hair all over the place. He wishes belatedly that he'd just left without knocking the second time.

 

After several seconds of staring at one another, Niall breaks the silence. "Are you going to let me in?"

 

Her mouth snaps shut as he moves towards her, attempting to get himself out of the frigid front door and into the warm, lovely smelling flat she seems to be guarding.

 

"You can't come in," she says.

 

Now it’s Niall's turn to stare at her in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

 

She starts to push the door closed. "You can't come in here." She sounds panicked.

 

“Are you okay, pet?"

 

She flinches (probably at his use of the nickname) and her eyes jump to his. "Yes. I'm good."

 

He reaches out to touch her and then thinks better of it, placing it on the door she is holding onto instead. "Look, the other day, at the iHeartRadio thing…."

 

"Yeah. Sorry that I didn't come over to say hi. I wasn't expecting to see you."

 

"Okay then." He gestures towards the flat. "Can I come in?"

 

She is still watching him expectantly, as though waiting for him to say something. He wishes he knew the magic words because it is fucking freezing. He doesn’t even know what has gotten into him. He’s just finished his tour, a tour he’s spent singing the songs he’d written about her. He hasn’t been able to resist the mad urge to see her after landing in London.

 

"You were......... horrible," Gemma spits out, in a way that makes him feel like she wants to use a better and far more offensive word.

 

"I'm sorry?"

 

"You should be sorry. You were.... a ...a...."

 

He watches her with more than a little amusement as she struggles to come up with a curse word suitable for him. The amusement is tempered by a vague, unfamiliar sense of guilt. Although he can't tell exactly what she is referring to, but he has a horrible feeling that he has somehow managed to hurt her more than he'd realized. "If I hurt you or said something that was...."

 

"You didn't," she interrupts, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

 

"What's bothering you then?"

 

Her brows draw together. "Are you really asking me that?"

 

"Yes. I'd like to know."

 

"Does it matter?"

 

"Of course, it does, pet. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

 

She concedes with a sigh. "Come on in. But don't make me regret this, Niall."

 

He enters the house which was surprisingly familiar. In fact, it is exactly as he remembers it. She has changed a few things, but the essence of the kitchen is the same. He is strangely glad she hasn't changed everything since they'd broken up. "It looks good."

 

She walks in after him. "It looks the same. I've been working a lot. Don't have much time to redecorate."

 

He sits down on the couch and pats the seat next to him. "So, I take it, work is going well."

 

She glares at him as if he was crazy to think she would sit beside him. "Yes. I love the work. I’m good at it."

 

"Great."

 

"Is this about Zayn and Harry doing the song together?” She sits down on the chair farthest from him. “I am not interfering in that and neither should you.”

 

Niall almost cringes because he can't tell whether she is being sarcastic. They hadn’t been together too long. They’d hooked up at a random party right after the band’s hiatus and he’d fallen in love. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. But she’d walked away before he could tell it to her at least. She’d broken his heart. And what had he done after that? To hide the fact that he was deeply affected, he went ahead and dated every member of the female gender. "This isn’t about them. I mean, not exactly.”

 

Gemma lifts one shapely eyebrow. "So why are you here?"

 

That is a really good question. Why is he there? "Ummm... just wanted to say hi."

 

"You came all the way here, in this cold, just to say hi?" She eyes him suspiciously.

 

At this point, he figures that the only way he can redeem himself was to be one hundred percent honest with her. "Things between us ended so quickly and suddenly. I had no idea where you were. I just wanted to make sure that we're good and you aren't angry at me."

 

"Niall, I know we fought and all," she hesitates slightly before looking him in the eye. "But it seemed like you moved on too quickly."

 

Truth is he hadn't. It had taken him months to stop thinking about her but he knows he’d gone about it the wrong way. "I wasn't fucking around on you, if that's what you mean."

 

She glares at him. "Don't be so crude."

 

He almost laughs. "My tour just got over. It was pretty great.” He is quite sure that she has no interest.

 

"I know. Congratulations!"

 

He sit back quietly, out of words again. She punctuates the silence by getting up and fidgeting with her coffee mugs.

 

Her rapid movements are making him nervous. He walks to her and put a hand on hers to make her stop.  "Gemma?"

 

She pauses, turning around to look at him. "Hmm?"

 

He takes a couple of tentative steps towards her and then hugs her round her waist. "I'm sorry about your Robin, pet. He was a great guy."

 

She wraps an arm around him and pats his back before she lets go hurriedly. It has to be the most awkward hug in history. This whole thing is possibly the most awkward conversation in the world. "Thanks.”

 

There is a knock on the kitchen door and they jump apart. Harry is stood a few feet before him, eyes wide as he assesses the scene in front of him. "What is going on here?"

 

"Harry, what are you doing here?" She exclaims at the same time.

 

But before either of them could reply, Harry takes two steps towards Niall and lands a solid punch squarely across Niall's jaw.


	4. Chapter 4

“Gemma? What’s going on?”

Harry’s brows beetle beneath the rim of his black snapback. Beside him, their mother blinks, owl-like.

Well, fuck.

“Harry.”

Gemma shuts her eyes as Niall’s steps up to her brother. This is not the way she had wanted her family to find out about her and Niall, especially not after the fact.

Harry’s gaze switches to Niall, the creases on his forehead deepening as he obviously tries to compute what the hell is going on. Anne appears to have caught on pretty quickly, if the hand she slips onto Harry’s forearm is any indication.

 Harry looks from one to the other before glaring at Gemma. “What is this?”

 “Surprise.” She shoots him a fake smile, knowing humour is the last thing warranted here but hoping that one day they could all laugh about this. “Why don’t you both sit down?”

 Harry doesn’t move, glancing at Niall again. “What the fuck is going on?” He demands again.

 Anne sighs. “Language, Harry.” And she half drags Harry into the kitchen. She kisses both Gemma and Niall on the cheek. “We just thought we’d pop in for a drink and see how you are doing, love. We should have…. called first.”

 Gemma shoots Niall a furtive look. The expression on his face is closed. She knows this is exactly the kind of thing he’d been dreading when they’d started seeing each other, but he dredges up a smile for her as they both turn to face her brother.

 “Why are you here, Niall?”

 “I came to see Gemma.”

 “Why?” Harry’s jaw looks like its about to shatter as he stares at Niall. “Did you guys hook up or something?”

 Gemma rolls her eyes. She is the oldest sibling here. “First, it’s none of your business. Second, we’re not seeing each other now.”

 “Oh my god.” Harry glares at Niall. “You two fucked?”

 Anne winces, so does Gemma.

 “Harry, we were seeing each other,” Niall says, like he is the voice of reason.

 “So…you guys have been,,,screwing around for how long now?”

 “Again, none of your business.” Gemma watches as her brother paces. “And we are not anything now. It was a while back.”

 “And you -” Harry stops mid-pace and glares at Niall. “Couldn’t keep your bloody hands to yourself.”

 Niall tenses beside her and a swift bubble of rage exploded in Gemma’s chest. “Don’t talk to him like that.”

 Harry glowers at her and starts pacing again. “So, what now? You’re back together?”

 “Not your business, Harry.”

 Harry laughs, pulling up again. “Do you have any idea how many women this guy has slept with?”

 “Dude.” Niall’s voice is laced with warning as he is stood practically rigid beside her now.

 “Nowhere near as many as you I’m guess, little brother,” Gemma snaps.

 Anne clears her throat loudly. “I’m right here, you know.”

 Gemma’s patient snaps loud enough to be heard on the other side of the planet. She’s had just about as much as she could take of her brother’s carry on. “I’m sorry, but did I miss something?” she demands. “He is your best friend, isn’t he?”

 “He was.”

 “Have I not heard you say a thousand times what a great lad he is?”

 Harry crosses his arms and stares at her with a sullen set to his jaw, not happy with her application of logic. “Niall’s a really good boy,” Anne confirms when Harry clearly isn’t going to answer.

 Harry shoots their mum another exasperated look but she just smiles at him pleasantly as Niall nods and says, “Actually yeah, I am.”

 “So if he’s a good boy, your best friend and if mum doesn’t have a problem, why is it so shocking that I might have liked him?”

  

 

 

 

Flashback -

  _The last thing he expects to see when Niall opens the door is Gemma. But that is exactly who he finds standing there in the rain in London that day. Gemma Styles. Beautiful, strong and just like sunshine on a rainy day. The Gemma he’s always had a crush on. The Gemma he’d ran into at a pub the previous night. The Gemma who’d been so drunk and out of it that he’d had to drop her home and put her to bed. The Gemma who’d kissed him last night._

_He’s always done his best to refrain from seeing Gemma as anything other than his mate Harry’s older sister, gorgeous, smart, and completely and utterly out of his league. Today, this Gemma is the one he remembered. Far far different from the Gemma he’d met last night._

_“Wait, Niall. Before you say anything and you always have something to say. I just wanted to say thank you. I was in a terrible funk yesterday and thank you for taking care of me,” she says, her face the very definition of serious._

_Niall is stood there staring at the beauty before him, not sure he can speak even if she hasn’t asked him not to. His idiot heart is beating faster than it ever has. Here she is, standing in front of him, rain water still dripping from her hair, her clothes clinging to her skin. He shakes his head, clearing it before his mind wanders too far down that route. Focus. He cannot possibly be having these feelings for his best mate’s older sister. Harry would murder him in his sleep, and the rest of the boys would likely throw a few punches in as well._

_Maybe he should stop her before she says whatever it is she is going to say. Probably something about how he needs to lose weight and start working out or something equally insulting. That’s when he notices that she has already been speaking while he has been deep in thought. Well, babbling at least it seems._

_“… And then after Chloe told me that it was you who took me home last night, I finally got in my car and just drove here, and wow, I did not think it would start raining! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to drive in the rain? No, I suppose you don’t,” she continues, barely stopping for a breath let alone to allow him to answer. “I bet you have a driver or something and wouldn’t be caught dead fumbling with your car keys in the rain. Anyway, so, now I’m here. Standing on your doorstep. In the rain. With you staring at me with that look. Silently. Will you say something already?” she blurts out, wrapping her arms around herself in a protective gesture._

_“I thought you didn’t want me to say anything,” Niall answers smoothly, hiding his insecurities behind his signature grin._

_“Ugh, you are annoying!” she sighs. “I just wanted to get everything out before you went off to LA or something. And now it’s your turn. Well?”_

_“Well, what?” he asks, racking his brain for a question in the little bit of her speech that he has actually focused on._

_“’Well what?’ Are you kidding me? Did you not listen to anything I just said?” Gemma cries out, dropping her hands to her sides._

_“Of course, I did.” he lies, taking a second too long to answer to be convincing. Because she had kissed him last night. Maybe in her drunken haze, but it had still been a kiss. Not the kind of kiss she’s always given him, on his cheeks, a light touch. But full on, in the mouth, eyes closed, clutching at his lapels like he was her fucking anchor. Niall had stopped her before it went too far, and also because she was drunk out of her mind and probably thinking that she was kissing someone fit, not her little brother’s friend._

_“Seriously?! After everything I just - and you didn’t even - I spent the entire ride rehearsing - you’re infuriating, you know that?” Gemma yells, gesturing wildly with her hands, clearly frustrated._

_“Gems, come on now, don’t be angry. Just tell me again what you came here to say,” Niall tries, reaching out a hand to grab her, pull her in closer, reassure her maybe, he isn’t exactly sure. He just wants to touch her._

_Gemma steps back, dodging his hand. “Maybe this was a bad idea after all. I should just go.”_

_She turns on her heel to leave the porch, rushing back out into the rain. Niall catches the look on her face before she turns away, his heart stopping. There is such raw emotion in her eyes for that brief moment. Pain, sadness, regret, a hint of anger. He speeds after her, standing in front of her before she can leave. Before it is too late._

_“Love - Gemma, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, alright?” He says as he grabs her hands in his._

_She looks up at him in surprise and sighs before pressing her lips together into a thin line. “Fine. But why weren’t you listening? Is my being here such an awful thing that you can’t be bothered to pay attention? I’m sorry if you didn’t want to see me…” she trails off as she looks down, her voice barely a whisper._

_“I will always want to see you,” he answers quickly, tilting her chin back up with a finger, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Don’t ever think otherwise, donut. Now, please, tell me what you came here to say.” Niall pleads, his eyes searching hers for any hint of what she is going to tell him. Not finding any, he braces himself for the inevitable rejection he is sure is to come._

_Gemma takes a deep breath before she answers him. “I was trying to tell you that… that I… This thing between us… what happened yesterday … I can’t…”_

_Niall can see where this is headed. She is probably here to tell him that the stupid kiss was a mistake. That she wants him to leave her alone. Well, he’ll just save her the trouble. And himself the pain._

_“There’s no need for that, Gems.” he says, a little too coldly, dropping his hands, already missing her touch. “I get the message loud and clear. No worries. You were drunk, I get it,” he practically snarls before he turns to head back into his house, a scowl on his face._

_“What? What are you talking about?” Gemma says, frowning deeply at him, her forehead creasing._

_“Why are you here?” he asks curiously._

_“If you had bothered to listen to me in the first place you would know!” Gemma yells at him, her frustration clearly winning out._

_“Gems,” he says warningly. “Just answer me. Why are you here?”_

_“Because I wanted to kiss you, you idiot!” she shouts, unable to control herself. Her exasperation with the situation overrides any nervousness she still feels. Until after the words leave her mouth, anyway. “I didn’t because I was drunk. I did because I actually wanted to.”_

_Niall’s eyes widen to comedic levels at her blurted words. He guesses he probably looks similar to Gemma, whose eyebrows has ridden up almost to her hairline and her mouth has dropped open. As he takes in the beautiful red flush sweeping across her cheeks her words finally hit him. She had wanted to kiss him, which probably meant that she likes him._

_“I mean, I came to tell you that all of this,” Gemma continues quickly, gesturing between them. “We can give this a shot. You and I. Because I would like to. Unless you have someone. Seeing someone, I mean. You could be. You’re a popstar and just -”_

_Niall rushes forward, catching Gemma off guard and causing her to end her babbling. As the rain runs down both of them in rivulets, Niall pulls her face to his and he crushes his lips against hers, catching her by surprise. Gemma quickly recovers, however, and tangles her hands in his wet hair, moving her lips against his. Niall has never felt that way before in his 23 years of existence._

  

 

 

 He raises the glass to his lips taking small sips of the aged wine, while willing himself not to empty it with a single swig. His impassive gaze sweeps across the plethora of unfamiliar faces, composed of plastic features and counterfeit grins. Some has mustered up enough courage to greet him, the one and only Zayn Malik, and he has feigned the slightest amount of jubilance, not that any of them expected any kind of excitement from him.

 Admittedly, not many of the guests has introduced themselves, most deciding to stare from afar, and exchange hushed whispers with those nearby, something that has been a usual thing at such parties (not that he attended many), ever since his infamous departure from the world’s biggest boyband.

 Zayn can hear the spiteful comments as if the speakers have announced them through a megaphone. But he’s stopped caring long back. Or so he tells himself and the people who bothers asking him about it.

 Disgusted by the lot of them, Zayn drops his façade of perfection and gulps down the liquid, before going on the hunt for another round. Four glasses later, and carrying a newly opened bottle, Zayn finds himself wandering the corridors of the prestigious hotel, humming along an old lullaby his mother had sung to him long ago. Back when the innocent tendency of carrying his heart on his sleeve had been an act of sincerity rather than foolishness.

 As he takes a sip from the tonic, his eyes sweep over the familiar alcove he has tumbled into, a nostalgic grin tugging on the ends of his lips. Four Seasons is a hotel that is not unfamiliar when London held one of its myriads of parties. Zayn had stayed there with the boys during their second and third world tours and had explored the grounds of the hotel numerous times, mostly trying to run away from the security. He remembers playing miniature golf with Louis and Niall beside the pool, drunk off their arses and laughing till their stomachs hurt.

 “There you are,” a familiar voice intrudes upon Zayn’s solitude, forcing him to be thrust back into the present day.

 “Niall?” Zayn isn’t sure whether he has conjured the Irish lad up. “What are you doing here?”

 “I was invited, Malik,” he snarks, playfully. “You are not the only one that gets invited to big magazine parties.”

 “I know that. I meant more specifically why are you here,” Zayn clarifies tersely.

 Niall chuckles as he joins Zayn on the white bench. “I was looking for you and suspected that you’d be here.”

 Zayn wonders what the polite way is of asking Niall to fuck off, because he doesn’t want to be rude, not to Niall. Three years might have passed without them having had a decent conversation, but Zayn isn’t prepared to disappoint the only boy he’s ever thought of as a younger brother. So, he grunts, hoping Niall would get the hint and leave him alone.

 “You look like hell.”

 “Thanks.” Locking eyes with Niall, Zayn says, “Did you come here to give me shit?”

 Niall holds his gaze. “No, I’m here to check up on how you’re doing.”

 “Great. I’m great.”

 “First of all, you don’t look great. So, cut the bullshit and tell me why the fuck you’re sitting here, all alone, with a bottle of booze.”

 Zayn lifts his shoulder, just a fraction. “I told you I’m good. What else do you want to know?”

 “The truth.” Niall pries the bottle of red wine from Zayn’s fingers, takes a solid gulp of it and proceeds to wince. “Since when do you like this stuff?”

 “God, you sound like my sister,” Zayn mutters, snatching the bottle out of Niall’s hand and almost finishing it off.

 There is a long stretch of silence in which Zayn thinks of boozing with the boys, doing outrageous shit and making out with –

 “There’s nothing in the world you can’t tell me, Zayn,” Niall says quietly. “We’ve known each other since we were teens. We’ve spent months at a stretch together. Is there anything about me that you don’t know?”

 Zayn wants to believe that Niall genuinely cares about his well being, tries so hard to absorb the words into his bloodstream, but he just cannot bring himself to trust anyone. Trust them to know he would never do anything to hurt them, or to put them at risk. “I’m not sure what you expect me to say.”

 Niall wipes some imaginary dust off the bench. “Look, you don’t have to say anything, Zayn. I was just worried about you. Sitting here like this.”

 Zayn scoffs. “It’s come too late, Niall, if I’m going to be honest with you.” He struggles with the pocket of his trousers for a few seconds until he came up with a packet of smoke and lights one, ignoring Niall’s look of complete disgust.

 “Well, I didn’t know if you’d want to associate with the likes of me, who makes music that just isn’t your style,” Niall remarks bitingly.

 Zayn can nearly feel Louis’ unspoken presence prickling in the back of his neck and suddenly, Harry is there too, watching and judging, and they are all disappointed in him or maybe they are rightfully laughing at what was left of poor little Zayn. “Thought you’d be over it by now.”

 Niall shakes his head. “Its hard getting over your best mate pissing on the music you have been making together for five years.”

 Zayn snorts. “Best mate? What best mate, Niall? Do you ignore your best mate’s calls? Do ignore their messages? Do you cut off your best friend from your life just because he left the band?”

 “It’s not like that,” Niall replies softly, shaking his head again. “I didn’t mean to cut you off. I really didn’t.”

 “It is like that. And now you’re here and acting like you were trying to contact me daily before I decided to stop trying to get in touch with you after the millionth voice mail. But hey, that’s just me, yeah? I’m totally overreacting.”

 Their eyes meet – a tiny glimmer of guilt and sadness awakening in Niall’s, a whole lot of fury most likely dancing in his. He has to get it all out. His anger at the world, at himself, at the boys. At his life. At having to come back to London for a stupid mistake. For letting his guard down in front of Harry. And most of all, his anger at Harry.

 “You think it’s a ball I’m having? Being diagnosed with anxiety? Having to cancel shows? Not being able to do what I love doing? You think taking out an album and then sitting at home is fun? You think I’m here in London attending parties and recording songs with Harry out of sheer joy? Yeah, Niall. I don’t expect you to understand, bro. You just completed a successful tour.”

 Niall is resting his head against the back of the bench, gazing out at the pool and Zayn is sure that he must be the stupidest person in the world because all he wants to do was ask Niall if he is okay.

 “I was seeing someone,” Niall speaks up. “For six months. Started a month after the hiatus. It didn’t end well.”

 Maybe that is supposed to make Zayn feel better, but it doesn’t. Zayn has never seen Niall look bleaker. He’s dated plenty during their band days and mostly kept out of the media eye. They’d always known Niall as the happy-go-lucky fella, who didn’t bother with commitment. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing because they’d been travelling so much, relationships never lasted that way. “Did you break her heart?”

 “Probably not.”

 “Did she break yours?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Was it serious?”

 “Thought it was.”

 “I’m sorry, Niall.” Zayn doesn’t like watching the younger boy being miserable. He and Louis used to say in old interviews, even when they had been fresh out of X-Factor, that they’d rather get punched themselves than watch Niall get punched.

 “You’d kill me if I tell you who it was.” A ghost of a smile flits across his face, as he looks back at Zayn.

 “Who was it?”

 “Gemma.”

 Zayn blinks at his friend, unable to believe what he’s heard. Surely Niall isn’t that much of an idiot. “Our Gemma?”

 “Styles.”

 Zayn doesn’t like that his mind goes to Harry as soon as he hears the surname, neither does he like that the bottomless pit in his stomach gets a little deeper. “Fucking hell, Horan. What were you thinking?”

 “I wasn’t,” Niall says, shaking his head.

 Zayn snorts. “Thinking? Of course, you weren’t, you twat.”

 “It wasn’t like that, Zayn.” Niall runs a hand through his hair, which is now brown in colour. “I wasn’t fucking around. I genuinely thought it was something real and she is so amazing.”

 Gemma is amazing. There is no doubt about that. “And what happened?”

Niall gets up from the bench abruptly and kicks at a stone. Hard. “I don’t know what the fuck happened. One minute we were planning to tell Harry and Anne, the next minute she was gone. Not even a fucking note.” He turns to Zayn with a twisted smile. “Kinda like you, actually.”

“Six months and Harry didn’t know?” Zayn says, decidedly ignoring the obvious jab at him.

“He knows now. I went to see her yesterday and he walked in on us. He decked me.”

“Jesus Christ, Niall.” Zayn doesn’t know whether to slug him for having dated someone who Zayn had always considered like an elder sister, or to feel sorry for Niall because he still seems to be in a lot of distress over something that happened over a year ago.

Niall shoots him a half-smile. “So, am I the official king of stupidity now? Baton’s been passed from Liam to me, huh?”

“Hmm.” Zayn gives a small humourless laugh. “Maybe you’ll be one step behind Liam and Louis. That’s if you know how to use a condom.”

“Have you spoken to Louis?”

“I’m staying with him.” Zayn blows the smoke from his cigarette away from Niall’s face. “When I had gone to see Jay in the hospital, she had told me to keep an eye on him and I’m doing a shit job of that as well.”

 “He’s in over his head with Simon.”

 Zayn’s stomach plummets. He refuses to believe that Louis was still stuck with Simon. No. they were supposed to be done with all of that during the hiatus. And Louis has not told him anything about Simon. “In over his head regarding what?”

 “I don’t think I could tell you.”

 “Great. Then why the fuck did you bring it up in the first place?”

 Niall’s lips turn into a thin line. “You could ask him.”

 It’s calm for a while, like they have now moved on to the centre of the storm; the kind of gentle quiet Zayn knows is an obvious indicator of both their existential crises blissfully raging on beneath their skin and he sort of feels like he should push Niall some more, effectively talk him into telling Zayn the entire truth about his small relationship with Gemma. But he doesn’t have the energy or capacity to deal with hearing about Niall’s heartbreak, when he hasn’t been able to deal with his own in almost three years.

 “You should have come to the X-Factor final when Louis performed. I really thought you would.”

 “I wanted to. I came to London for that.”

 “Why didn’t you?”

 “Simon said no.”

 “What the fuck?” Niall spits out.

 “I would have taken the attention off Louis’ performance.” Zayn shrugs. “That’s what he said.”

 “Louis wanted you there. He asked Liam five times whether you were going to turn up.”

 A cold hand reaches deep within him and squeezes his heart tight. “I watched it on TV. I’m glad at least you three went.”

 “We’d never be you to Louis, Zayn.” Niall grips Zayn’s shoulder.

 The invisible hand squeezes tighter. Zayn doesn’t say anything, mostly because his throat feels tight.

 “We can forget the last three years and be friends again, Zayn, can’t we?”

 Zayn shrugs. He isn’t sure if it’s possible, he doesn’t want to say no to Niall. He also didn’t want to get his hopes up. Reconciling with Louis had been hard enough, and now Niall.

 “What are you doing tomorrow?”

 “Nothing.”

 “I’m taking you to play golf. Louis can come too, if he is free.”

 Zayn groans at that, pretending that it’s the last thing he’d rather do, when, in reality, he’d kill to play golf with Niall again. And maybe, just maybe, they could mend their differences slowly.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry should have known his request to his mum would bring questions. He just hadn’t realized that it was going to be a family affair.

All over some homemade eclairs.

“I don’t understand, honey,” Anne says. She is stood in the kitchen of his London home, an apron over her dress. “I thought you and Zayn are not friends anymore. And this meeting is all business.”

“No, they are not friends. And yes, it is supposed to be business.” Gemma gives him a measured, somewhat accusatory glare over her glass of orange juice. How anyone can drink orange juice with an éclair, he doesn’t know. As far as he is concerned, that just ruins both flavours.

“Good to know you’re still in touch with him.” He gives her a warning glance he immediately regrets. She’ll be all over that like a bloodhound. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be at work?”

She rolls her eyes and pushes her pale blond hair away from her face. “Just because you have no fixed working hours, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t.”

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“So what? I’m working ten to six. Besides, mum told me she was making eclairs. Which brings us back to your very special request.”

“It’s food. Zayn could do with some food.”

“It is an unusual request,” his mother says, trading glances with her daughter.

“And Zayn’s been eating pretty good by the looks of the last time I saw him.” Gemma pops a torn off bite of éclair in her mouth that does nothing to hide her smirk.

“You would know, yeah?” Harry is annoyed every time his sister refers to Zayn like he is her younger brother, not Harry. “Since you’re his personal secretary.”

Gemma cocks an eyebrow. “Careful there, you sound jealous, little brother.”

Harry snorts. “Oh, shut up, you snob!”

Gemma picks apart her éclair like she is trying to sell it on an infomercial, squishing the soft dough and dragging a manicured fingertip through the cream filling. “I understand the public meeting to make sure everyone knows you guys are on good terms, but I don’t understand why you need to get him baked goods. Is this Jeff’s new plans? Fake girlfriends aren’t enough anymore?”

There it is. Gemma’s dig at his PR people’s incompetence or over-competence. She just hates most people he works with.

His mother beams. “Bring him home, love. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

“No,” he says quickly. “Open any entertainment channel and you can see him, mum. He doesn’t need to come here. Besides, I’m flying to LA this week to finalise on the house.”

Two pairs of eyes settle on him. “I wish you would reconsider,” Anne says.

“It’s a done deal.” The words came out faster than he intends. “And it’s my life. It’s convenient if I start writing and recording a new album.” Those words have been his mantra ever since he had decided to move to LA.

Anne blanches, but as quick as she reacts, she shakes it off. She wipes her hands on her apron and says, “I’ll just go and pack these for you, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t watch her go, feeling as guilty as ever. If he wants a knife to twist, he has his sister for that.

Gemma’s eyes flash. “You’re killing her.”

Generally speaking, he adores his older sister, but she doesn’t ever let things go easily. “I think you’re exaggerating. She said she supported me.”

“Of course she said that, you twat. But she already lost Robin. Can you imagine how hard it is for her to watch you go and settle an ocean away without any valid reason?”

He thinks of all the times as a kid, he has done something to piss his sister off. But this seems like something she’ll never forgive and he is a little bit scared. “I have a valid reason.”

“Not valid enough.”

He opens and closes his hand, but the exercise does nothing to alleviate the growing tension that claws at him. “It’ll be easier, I can avoid all the travelling.”

“At what cost?”

She is on his mum’s side, fighting a battle Anne never would. He gets that. And he doesn’t want to hurt either of them, but this is his life and London has so much history, and pain. Especially now that Zayn is back. Maybe it’s time to finally let go of a band he misses every day and start something he can look forward to the rest of his life. “I want to move on, Gems. From everything that’s London for me.”

“You’re forgetting something while moving on.”

“Which is?”

“You’re leaving your family behind. Your friends. The few people in this world who would give up everything for you.” Sliding off her stool, she slams her glass in the sink and it’s a fucking miracle the thing doesn’t shatter on impact – then walks out of his house without a second glance his way. Harry tries to blame it on some residual anger she has in her because of the way he had behaved with Niall a couple days back, but knows in his heart that it’s not that at all.

It feels like the knife twists deeper into his chest. Gemma is right in a way. Everything is in London. Maybe he really is making a mistake. He is so lost in thought that he jumps when his mum touches his arm. “She’ll be okay,” she says gently. Always gentle.

“Are you?”

She shrugs, but the indifferent gesture doesn’t keep the shadows from her face. She has always seemed so happy, which is something he has never understood, but has come to take for granted. “You love people for who they are. You can’t put conditions on something like that.”

“Which is code for?”

This time her smile is genuine. “What is it you kids say? It is what it is?”

He laughs. “Louis’ literally got that tattooed on his chest.” He watches quietly as his mum arranges four eclairs in one box. “You know that’s overkill, right?”

“I haven’t fed Zayn in a long time, love.”

“Jesus, mum! I’m your kid, not him.”

“I have always thought of all the boys as my own kids. And Zayn’s special.”

Harry doesn’t ask why because he knows the reason. His mum has always treated Zayn differently than Louis, Liam and Niall. Maybe not because of Harry’s relationship with Zayn, but just like his sister, his mum too, stuck up for underdogs. As far as his family is concerned, Zayn was the underdog in One Direction.

 

 

 

Zayn stares off the back deck of his recently acquired home in Hampstead, London. He doesn’t know what pushed him towards actually buying a place – whether it is because he is finally comfortable about moving back to the city or if it’s Louis’ incessant nagging. He likes the area and Louis’ house is pretty close by too.

His phone buzzes. Flipping it over, he shakes his head. “Hey, Don.”

His older sister’s high pitched voice comes through clearly. “Can you tell me why I am staring at a deed to a house in Highgate, that’s in my name?”

He’d known she’d find out, but hadn’t known when. “Does it matter?”

“It does when you told me only two months ago you had no plans of moving to anywhere from New York, anytime soon. Then this shows up in the mail, so yeah, it matters.”

“All my assets belong to you guys. You know that.”

“But you put this one under my name.”

Zayn sighs. “Doniya, you know your name won’t be flagged by the press like mine will.”

“So, you’re hiding?”

“No.”

“What’s going on with you? Why are you buying a place in London?”

Doniya generally worries about him, because she is older, if only by a couple of years. “Plans change sometimes, okay? Just ….” His voice trails off. He doesn’t want to explain anything to his sister, especially because he isn’t sure about anything either. “I can’t explain much, Don.”

Silence. Then she lets out a long sigh. “I know, Zaynie. I know.”

Guilt surges inside him. “I know you do.” He hasn’t seen his mother and sisters in months. He sucks in a breath. “Do you need money or anything else? ‘Cause you know you can just call my lawyer and he’ll get whatever you guys and mum may need.”

“No, I don’t need money, Zayn.”

He sinks into a deck chair, hating that he can’t get himself to go home to Bradford. His father is there, and he can’t bear to face his disappointment. “This is…”

“About Harry, I get it,” Doniya finishes for him. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing.” She doesn’t need his problems.

“You know that place in London? Barnardo’s? You used to go there for the kids all the time. Its been ages, Zayn. Maybe you should visit?”

Bernardo’s is a charitable organisation Zayn often helps out, who has homes for orphans all over the UK. He used to visit the London home often and had enjoyed spending time with the children. “Yeah, I might.”

“Okay,” she says tentatively.

“I’m fine. Really.” He wipes a hand over his forehead. He is fine. He is. He wills it to be so.

“Dad was so upset about you not visiting home when those photos of you and Louis in London released.”

He hasn’t been expecting this. “What?”

“Yes. He was asking about you. And Harry.”

Letting out a long breath, he runs his fingers through his hair. “You’re really going to do this now?”

“No, I’m not.” She sniffs, dismissing the subject. “So, what are you doing in London?”

“Trying it out. Doing something for charity.”

“I guess that’s a start.”

“It is. And I also think I’m ready to finish off with the second album.”

“Already? I thought you said its going to take some more time.” She sounds sceptical.

“I’m not sure though. Don’t want to step on Liam and Louis’ toes when they release their first.”

Doniya sighs. “Your album doing well is not your fault, Zayn. You know that, right? You know Harry’s and Niall’s did really well too.”

Gigi has told him this over and over. He knows, logically, it isn’t his fault that all the boys’ works get compared to him as if he has set a standard. He doesn’t want to be anyone’s scale, let alone the four guys who’d been his best friend for years. Okay, so it is time to change the subject again. “How are the girls and mum?”

He imagines her pinching the bridge of her nose, which is what she does when she worries about something. “They’re good.”

“And you?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s good.” He doesn’t like how perfunctory the conversation sounds, but he doesn’t have anything else to say.

“Zayn?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

How does he tell his sister the truth? He csn’t. “I’m fine. Great. Doing much better.”

“Are you just hermitizing?”

“No.”

“Liar. I would have got a Google alert about you if anyone knew you were buying a house in London.”

“You’ve set Google alerts for me?”

“Of course.”

This actually makes him laugh. “You’re a knob, Don.”

“It’s nice to hear you laugh.”

He sucks in a breath. Maybe he will be doing better in London. “You’d be happy. My hair’s growing back.”

She snorts. “It’s not like you’re not going to dye it again like the media prima donna you are.”

“I thought you liked the green on me.”

“No, I didn’t. Keep it dark please. Blonde streak and full blonde are different, Zayn.”

“And I’m growing out my beard.”

A light laugh. “Awesome.”

“Louis said yesterday that I’m starting to look like dad.”

After a beat, she sniffs again. “You’ve always looked like him, Zayn. Nobody other than Louis has the guts to say it to your face.”

“I know, but … you know.”

“So you’ve been buying a house for me, huh?” She snickers. “Do I need to talk to you about ownership?”

He grins. She sounds just like their mum does when she is lecturing them. “Lay it on me.”

“Be careful with my house. No dirt, no litters.” She pauses for a bit and her voice grows sober. “Do me a favour?”

“Yeah?”

“Get out of that house.”

“I get out,” he says defensively.

“I don’t mean go get all in the press when your new publicist wants you to. I mean, don’t be just a broody songwriter.”

“I have always been a broody songwriter.”

“You weren’t when you left Bradford, Zayn.” Which is true. “You weren’t the first four years of One Direction, either. I don’t know what happened to you.”

“You know what happened, Don.”

“Yeah, I know. But you know you can do better. You know I love you, Zayn.”

“I love you, too.”

 

 

 

Zayn spots Harry as soon as he enters the small café in the heart of London. That has always been the thing about Harry, you could notice him from 2 kilometres away. He is sat at a corner booth, a box and a coffee mug in front of him, staring out the glass window and twiddling his thumbs. He watches him for a while, waiting for his stomach to settle down until he starts feeling like a creepy stalker. Zayn walks up to him, but Harry catches his eyes before he reaches the booth. His green eyes are a punch straight to Zayn’s gut.

“Hi,” is all he says, offhandedly. He doesn’t get up, he isn’t even bothered with a hand shake.

Zayn says nothing. He slides into the seat opposite and sits there quietly, having lost his voice and the ability to form sentences at the sight of his former bandmate. He is still so far gone for Harry Styles that it is downright shameful. There was a point of time in his life when Zayn would gladly follow Harry off a fucking cliff, but now isn’t that time anymore. But he’d still show up to talk Harry off the goddamn cliff. How long would too much be too fucking much for Zayn, he still isn’t clear on.

“Did you walk here?”

“Just bought a house around the corner.” His coffee-brown eyes dart towards the window. “You live here, too? Fuck.”

A rough laugh jumps out of Harry’s mouth. What are the odds? “How the fuck is this even possible?”

Zayn shrugs. “I had no idea you live here. I bought James’ house.”

“Corden?”

“Yes. Do you know any other James who lives here?”

“This is for you,” Harry says gruffly, almost shoving the box across the table. “Mum sent them over.”

Harry’s mum is a wonderful cook and Zayn refrains from tearing open the box. “What are these?”

“Eclairs.”

“Thanks, man.” Zayn mutters, pulling the box of his favourite treats closer.

“Fuck you.”

The laugh comes out of Zayn involuntarily. He doesn’t mean to laugh but he does anyway and he knows immediately that its going to make Harry angrier than he already is. Harry has always been like a cyclone when mad, rare that it is. He never means the things that come out of his mouth and doesn’t realize the destruction he leaves in his wake. Zayn isn’t sure if that’s a good quality or still a stupid one.

“What’s so funny, you twat?”

“What are you so angry at?”

Harry snorts. “Are you seriously asking me? It would take me a fucking month if I started listing.”

“Start at the beginning.”

“Why? Why should I tell you shit?”

“Maybe I can help.”

“You’re the reason I am mad.”

“That’s why maybe I can help.”

“Fuck you, Zayn!” Harry says again, louder this time. He picks up his coffee mug and for a moment Zayn wonders if Harry would smash it on Zayn’s head.

“You have already done that, haven’t you, Harry?” And he is suddenly mad too. Furious. He left a band, a band that mattered to him more than anything else, he left because he probably would have died if he’d stayed another week. He did it for his four best friends. He did it because he did not have an option. And nobody is ready to accept the fact that saving himself isn’t selfish, even three years after the fact. Zayn is done explaining, to everyone and especially to Harry, who is supposed to understand better than anyone else. Well, too bad.

 

 

Harry’s eyes widen at Zayn’s outburst and he seems to calm down a little. He has never seen Harry scared before, except for that one time they had been mobbed in Paris and Zayn had been separated from the four of them. Harry’s stomach flips.

“What do you want?”

“What I absolutely don’t want is to do a song with you.”

Zayn looks at him with a burning glare, but Harry notices the small flicker of hurt which vanishes faster than it appears in his brown eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to associate with the likes of me.”

Harry wants to smack him across the face for what he implies. “How dare you!”

“I didn’t really mean that.” Zayn looks half ashamed. “I mean, you’re the least racist person I know. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“Just what?”

“Screwed up. This is screwed up.”

“Innit?”

“I don’t want to let the kids down.” Zayn stretches his legs on the floor. “This is important to me.”

Harry knows this. He knows that Zayn takes his charity seriously. He doesn’t do it because of the optics, he does because he genuinely cares and wants to help. They’d always teased him about what a bleeding heart he had and it seems that fact is still true. Harry is glad about that. In his mind, it had been easier to paint Zayn as an asshole who only cared about himself when he’d left One Direction. But who was Harry kidding? Zayn is still the boy who doesn’t like to see people suffering. And damn, if that didn’t give Harry a huge pit in his stomach.

“Can we do this?” Harry asks himself the question as much as he wants to know what Zayn thinks.

“Maybe it’s too much.”

“Maybe we could try.”

“You think we can?” Zayn chuckles. “Without killing each other.”

“You’ve already killed me once.” The words are out before Harry can stop them. He doesn’t mean to make the situation any worse than it already is, but his hurt is still fresh, even if it was three years had gone by.

Zayn’s eyes darken immediately. “I never meant to hurt you, Haz.”

And suddenly Harry is furious again. “Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that. You lost the right the minute you walked away. I was fucking asleep in the next room, Zayn. I woke up and you were gone. You didn’t even have the kindness to wake me up and say goodbye. Not even a fucking note. Fuck!”

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just bites off an éclair and takes a sip off his coffee.

They are quiet as Harry drinks his latte. He wonders what Zayn has ordered and if his coffee order has changed recently, which is a weird thing to wonder about someone. He licks his lips and then realizes that Zayn is watching him. “Problem?”

“If you can’t sleep, you shouldn’t have coffee.”

For a moment, Harry considers telling Zayn that what he drinks is none of his business. Also, that he is sleeping well enough, even though that is a lie. But the whole point of sitting together at a coffee shop, where they can be mobbed at any minute, is not to start a fight to attract more attention. To try and get this over with as soon as humanly possible. So, he simply shrugs. “Its morning now, innit?”

“You have dark circles, Harry.”

Harry ignores that. “Why’d you buy a house here?”

Zayn hesitates and avoided his gaze. “It’s …. umm .. I don’t really have anywhere to stay in London. There’s only so long I can stay at Louis’. Don’t want to stay at a hotel and push through people to have to go for a walk in the morning. So, well, why not, yeah?”

“You’re moving back to London?”

“Don’t know yet. What about you?”

“Moving to LA for a while after we are done with this thing,” Harry says quickly. Too quickly.

Zayn snorts. “Right.”

It’s maddening that Zayn can still read Harry like a book and Harry can’t hate that bit enough. “What?” he snaps.

“You’re leaving London for what? What about Gemma and Anne?”

Harry doesn’t bite out an answer like he wants too, because his eyes fall on Zayn’s chest where a wolf tattoo glows red and raw. It’s new and fabulous, like all of the ones Zayn got when something really mattered to him, not just on an impulse. It makes Harry itch to get another one, it has been a while. “None of it was about me, was it?”

Zayn frowns. “None of what?”

“You leaving, your album, you saying that we were never even friends, we never even spoke in the band? Jesus!” Harry twists the cover of his cup forcefully. “You killed me, you know that? You might as well have taken a knife and carved it into my heart, because that’s what it felt like, Zayn. It felt like death. I would have never left. Doesn’t matter how much I spoke about it at the time. I would never have left. Not without you.”

“It wasn’t an option, Harry,” Zayn says, so quiet that Harry can barely make out the words.

“What?”

“You leaving wasn’t an option. We signed for six albums. Simon called me in his office one day and said to tell you that your hiatus idea wouldn’t work because we couldn’t take a break till we gave him six albums. Mine was the sixth, Harry. Yeah, sure, I was exhausted, I wasn’t enjoying it anymore, I was frustrated that they were not using my songs. But I was ready to stick it out with you guys. I had no intention of leaving. I didn’t leave because it was fun for me. I left because that felt better for all five of us than staying for two more albums and one more tour.” Zayn pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’ve gotta go, Harry.”

By the time, Zayn finishes explaining, Harry is numb all over. His mind can’t process what his ears are hearing. He can’t even react when Zayn gets up and leaves. He has been wrong all along. He has been juvenile in his behaviour. Calling Zayn names at interviews, acting like he doesn’t exist, like One Direction is better off without him, when all the while Zayn had done it for them. So that he and the boys could have a hiatus. Harry doesn’t think he’s hated himself more at any point of time in his life than he does at that particular moment.

 

 

“I fucked up,” Harry’s deep, rumbling voice has an undercurrent of a whine in it. He has caught up with Zayn on the sidewalk near his new house.

He speaks as if he is sorry. As if Harry Styles knows how to be sorry. What Harry does know, in Zayn’s experience, is how to overstay his welcome. So, Zayn ignores him; focusing on his coffee cup instead. Harry just continues.

“When I was saying all those stupid things about you in interviews and stuff… I didn’t know.”

“Interesting.” Zayn doesn’t look up from his drink. “Did you also not know that I was your friend? Because I swear I remember us spending every minute together for five years straight.”

“Zayn, I really….” Harry stops speaking, mercifully, then starts again too soon. Way too soon. “I’m sorry, Zee.”

With that, Zayn throws the coffee cup in the nearest trash and half turns to see if Harry is serious. He is. He is staring at Zayn with that mournful look he recognises so well.

“That’s all I wanted to say. I’m really sorry, for everything.”

Zayn studies his face for the second that takes him to decide what he is going to say. “Forget it, Harry. It’s been years now.” He starts walking towards the gate of his home, buying which suddenly felt like a bad decision.

“There’s something else we need to talk about.”

“We’re done talking!” Zayn snaps back, unable to reign it in any longer.

But Harry follows him anyway. Of course, he does. He is Harry. The sheer over-confidence of him sents blood pounding to Zayn’s ears.

“I’m trying to help.”

“Help?” Zayn glares, lowering his voice, afraid to draw attention. “You’re not helping. You’ve never helped. You destroyed everything. You destroyed our…”

But there’s no word for what they had had. Friendship? Relationship? Something that had mattered to Zayn more than anything else in his life?

“I still love you.”

It feels to Zayn like a hail Mary. And an outright lie. But the words stings his heart. He can’t breathe. He can’t even speak.

“Zayn, it was stupid what all I did.”

“Shut up!”

“Zayn, come on.”

“Please, just go, Harry. Leave.”

Harry starts to leave, then turns back. “I owe you a huge apology. As a friend.”

“You’re not my friend.”

Finally, Harry looks hurt. It is not a comfort to Zayn.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

An hour and a half later after learning of Zayn’s reasons for leaving, Harry is sat on the couch of his sister’s living room, staring down at the steaming mug of coffee in his hand. Mind spinning, he still cannot wrap his head around it all.

That Zayn is a fucking martyr.

That Zayn had done it so that Harry could have his hiatus and pursue a solo career, something he’d desperately wanted at that time, probably far more than any of the other lads.

And he’d left because he’d wanted Harry to have whatever he wanted.

Too many emotions vie for Harry’s attention: shock and a deep sadness, regret and a profound relief. For some absurd reason, he’s spent three years believing that Zayn had just been selfish. He shouldn’t have. The Zayn he’d known and loved hadn’t had a single selfish bone in his body.

Harry lets out a self-directed scoff. How stupid could he get?

In reality, all the emotions left him feeling gutted. Imagining Zayn being dragged by the media and the fans when none of it was his fault was incredibly painful. And his reason for bolting?

From the beginning of One Direction, Zayn had always been in protector mode when it came to Harry. So knowing how much Harry had wanted out of the band at the time, Zayn must have fallen right into the trap of Simon Cowell. And the way Harry had treated Zayn, now that he knows the real reason behind his departure, he feels like he was unbelievably mean-spirited.

Petty.

But…for the second time in his life, Harry had been left waiting for someone who would never return. Waiting and wishing and hoping. Again.

Shit.

His throat tight, Harry leans back against the couch and tries to rub the burn from his eyes as he forces those particular memories away. Instead, he tries focusing on the positive. Zayn hadn’t left because he’d stopped giving a shit about Harry.

The news brings a huge swell of relief and fills an age-old hole, easing the continuous ache that has been a part of him for so long now. Unfortunately, it also comes with a price. With guilt that almost burns Harry’s insides. The way he has behaved. The way he has portrayed Zayn in front of the media. The way he has shrugged off every time someone mentioned Zayn – like Zayn didn’t exist.

“Are you okay?” Gemma looks concerned as she smoothes back his hair and looks in his eyes. This is a far different Gemma than the one who walked away from him only a few hours back. This is the sister Gemma, the one who always takes care of him, the one who has a solution to every one of his problems.

He tries a smile. “This feels so familiar.”

 

She stalls, then shakes her head. “Don’t think about that.”

He can’t help himself. He clearly remembers the night after their Asia tour had been over, back in 2015. He’d showed up at Gemma’s doorstep in London, dripping wet in the London rain and devastated. She’d not asked a question, because she had probably always known. Like, he is sure she does now. “It’s all the same, Gems.”

“You grew up too fast, Harry.”

“You’re only two years older than me.”

“I’m still your older sister. This is my job.”

“I’m not a kid anymore. I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to. Not alone.”

“I wish I never laid eyes one him.” He shakes his head, willing the tears back.

Gemma frowns. “On who? Zayn?”

Harry nods. “I wish we never met. If we never….” He sighs. Fuck, he doesn’t want to say these things to his sister. But it’s all there in his head and he needs to get them out. “This is all my fault. Everything that’s happened.. is all my fault. I’ve worked so hard, Gemma. The last three years. I didn’t take a break. All I was doing was working. And I go to my shows and tell people to be nice to everyone, to try and be the best version of themselves, to fucking treat people with kindness. I thought I was moving on. Moving on from everything that was Zayn for me, because, trust me, Gems, Zayn was everything for me. And I was proud of myself. I thought I was doing good. Fuck.”

“You’re not making sense, Harry.”

“Its quite simple, really. If I had never laid eyes on him, I’d never have fallen in love. And he wouldn’t have fallen in love. That would have made for two more lonely people in this world, but also, a lot less pain and heartache for everyone else around us.” He shakes his head again. “For the boys. For you people. For our families. For the fans who still believe that we five are the best friends in the world.”

“It’s not that simple, Harry,” Gemma says, squeezing his hand. “It’s not as simple as you’re saying it is.”

“Yes, it is. Liam had said it the moment he had found out about us. He had said that this would destroy everything – it would end the band one day. And it did, didn’t it? We did destroy everything. But it wasn’t a choice for me. Because if it were a choice, Zayn would be the last person I’d choose. So I wish we’d never met. But we did. And I tried to stay away. Every time Simon gave us a punishment, I tried and failed. To hide. To stop loving him. But I couldn’t because I was weak. So, when he left me, I thought, I’d show him,” Harry scoffs at himself. “How dare he leave! The best revenge was to pretend that I never ever cared he was there. That he didn’t make a difference in the band. That I didn’t give a fuck about Zayn Malik. Imagine how that made him feel because, turns out, whatever he did, he did for me. So I was the fucking fool. I met him. The most amazing, caring, brave and loyal guy to ever exist. I fell in love with him. And then I stepped all over him because I was so fucking blind I actually forgot that Zayn would never be the kind of person to actually do what I thought he did. I forgot all the reasons why I fell in love with him in the first place, I forgot who Zayn is.”

Gemma takes the coffee mug from his hands and puts it on the table. “I don’t mean to make you feel worse, Harry. But there is a reason I always told you to understand the things from Zayn’s point of view.”

“What?”

“Because he has to be twice as good to get half of what you have.”

“That’s bullshit, Gemma!”

“Oh really?” His sister snorts derisively. “You’re my brother, Harry and I love you. I love how ‘woke’ you are about certain issues, about the LGBTQ community. But you don’t get it. You won’t get it till you have faced it. You think it’s not hard for Zayn? Just go on Twitter and how people talk about him. It’s not the same. It’s not, Harry.”

“I know it’s not,” Harry says, but he knows in his heart the moment the words are out of his mouth, that he probably doesn’t know.

A light knock on the door makes him jump.

“It’s just Louis. He called me earlier to ask where you were. Said he wanted to talk to you.” Gemma walks to the door. “I’ll let him in.”

Harry wants to die. The last time he’d seen Louis had been at his step-dad Robin’s funeral. He’d been a mess then and he is a mess now. He knows it would take Louis only a couple of minutes to figure out what is bothering Harry and he can’t live with that. He is embarrassed and angry and the urge to lash out at Louis rises in him like the bile from his stomach.

Louis peeks in cautiously, sees him on the couch and comes in further. “He okay?”

“Yes.” Gemma and Harry say at the same time.

Louis gives a slight, tilted smile. “Hey, Harry.” He comes over to him and sits down on the empty seat opposite to Harry.

“What’s up?”

“You look terrible.”

Harry winces. “No kidding. I went out and binge drank,” he explains, honestly.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Louis frowns. “Why’d you get drunk?”

Harry isn’t going to be that honest though. Knowing he needs to get this over with, he sets his coffee mug down and stands up.

Louis does the same, his cautious gaze never leaving Harry. All five of them had known each other all too well, to not recognise if something was wrong. Gemma stands near him, strangely quiet. They both watch him, as if expecting him to lose it at any second. And maybe he would – if he didn’t have an audience.

He moves a few feet away, needing the distance from the concern and the questions in their eyes. “Why are you here, Louis?” Harry is done playing nice.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Louis says, averting his eyes.

"Please, Louis, you have to tell me. Was everything a lie? Zayn was made to leave? It was Simon all along!"

Louis looks at his fingernails and then at Harry. "Yeah, it was."

"Fuck!" Harry's head reels. "Fuck!"

Louis shakes his head. "Look, Haz. I can't tell you anything else. Zayn called me, he told me what he told you, and thats all I can tell you. Its not my place to explain what's going on with Zayn. I'm his friend. I can't do that to him."

"You're my friend too, Louis."

"I'm Zayn's friend. I will always be Zayn’s friend."

Harry knows what he means. Zayn and Louis had bonded on the first day at boot camp in X-Factor over the lack of confidence that they both seemed to share. And from that day onwards, they'd had some sort of silent agreement to have each other's backs. Their bond is impenetrable and Harry knows that try as he may, he isn't getting another word out of Louis.

“So, I want you to stay out of his way. I’m serious, Harry. I know you guys are doing that song together and that’s just a farce. I’ll write a song if I have to. You two can record it separately. I want you to stay the hell away from Zayn.” Louis looks him dead in the eye, as if Harry is responsible for everything. “Don’t do anything that would drive him away. He’s in a slightly better place, maybe. Don’t ruin it for him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry is furious now. “Oh, fuck you, Louis! Fuck you for always fucking taking his side. I cannot believe you had the nerves to come in here and warn me off Zayn. You knew the whole time! Did Liam and Niall know too? Why’d you leave me out? So that I could play the fool in interviews? Be the bad guy? All of you set me up!” Harry stomps angrily to the door and pulls it open. “In case you forgot, I stuck with you all to make sure One Direction finished off in style. There would be no One Direction without me. Get the hell out of my house, Tomlinson and never fucking come back.”

Louis looks shocked at his outburst, but only for a minute. He laughs at Harry’s face as he walks to the door. “You’re still the same shit snob, aren’t you, Styles?” He shoves his way past Harry and steps out. “I came here as a friend, hoping for you to show some kindness to someone I thought you used to care about. But, of course, you don’t. Well, I got what I deserved, I guess for thinking for a minute that you are a human being instead of the self-serving machine that you have become.” He slams the door behind him on Harry’s face.

Even after the door closed loudly behind him, Harry stares. He can’t believe the things he has said right now. Who is this monster that’s raging inside of him? He can’t even recognise himself anymore. He is blinded by anger and betrayal.

“Harry.”

He jumps, and his gaze shifts to his sister.

“You know I love you…”

“Yes.” Never in his entire life has he ever doubted that bit.

“I also love Louis. And the rest of the boys.”

“I know.”

Gemma lets out a big breath, then walks over to him to take his hands. “He’d deny it till hell freezes over, but Louis is scared. Maybe you should consider being friends with him again. You two were pretty tight, yeah?”

Harry wishes he could be the bigger person, but he is so bitter over the fact that Louis seems to have chosen Zayn over him, that he can’t think straight. He wrenches his hands away from Gemma’s. “He deserves every bit of shit he’s probably going through.”

He also wishes he could unsee the hurt and shocked expression on Gemma’s face when he walks away.

 

 

 

Flashback –

_Louis snickers at Harry like he’s just discovered the funniest thing in the world. “You have a thing for Zayn,” he says, poking Harry painfully in the ribs._

_“I do not have a thing for Zayn!” Harry replies too quickly._

_“Says you,” Louis challenges, still grinning. Idly, he rattles the ice-cubes in his nearly empty glass of soda. “You are blushing, Styles and whenever the two of you happen to be in the same room together..”_

_The timer dinges on the super-stove, a six-burner monstrosity that Louis has recently purchased, Harry has no idea why, because Louis doesn’t know how to cook. Harry is grateful for the excuse to jump up from his chair at the table and hurry over to take four loaves of bread from the oven. “Nonsense,” he says, but he doesn’t sound very convincing, even to himself._

_“He’s available, you know,” Louis says, coyly, pushing back his chair and standing. “Zayn, I mean. That Perrie thing is just for publicity.”_

_Harry shoves four more pans of bread dough into the oven to bake, sets the timer and goes back to unloading grocery bags. He doesn’t respond, but Louis goes right on talking just as if he has._

_“Zayn might be interested too,” he says. “I mean, I know for a face, that he is bisexual.”_

_That statement stops Harry with his hand still inside a bag full of hot dog and hamburger buns. He’s only kissed Zayn once, or Zayn has kissed him when they were too drunk to care, so it shouldn’t really be a surprise that he isn’t completely straight._

_“Once and for all, Louis,” he says evenly. “I don’t care about Zayn’s sexuality.”_

_In a pig’s eye, you don’t, taunts that annoying voice in Harry’s head._

_“I don’t believe you,” Louis says, closing the refrigerator door and joining Harry at the long counter, still lined with bulging bag of supplies that he has bought for god knows what reason. Louis can’t do anything in moderation._

_“Besides,” Harry says, with considerable bag rattling. “Do you have any idea what management would do if they even got a whiff of what you are suggesting. I mean, look at what they are making us do because of the stupid rumours about us, that aren’t even true.”_

_“Fuck management,” Louis says, vehemently. It’s a statement he says often and with varied ranges of anger and bitterness._

_“And we’re too different, Zayn and I.” Harry shakes his head, trying to dispel the thought that somehow seems to take a root inside his head. “Yeah, he’s hot. Yeah, I have thought about it. But you know what he thinks, yeah? He thinks I have it easy, just showing off my dimples and getting whatever I want.”_

_“He said that?”_

_“Not in so many words, but sort of a gist of it.”_

_“Oh,” Louis says, sounding deflated._

_Harry pats his friend’s arm. “Let’s put these extensive amounts of groceries away.”_

_He may have diverted the subject, but Harry can’t stop thinking about Zayn and what being with him may feel like._

 

Zayn is having a perfectly good morning. He’s woken up on his own time, gone grocery shopping and has gotten an amazing discount on his favourite beer. Then he got a call from his manager saying that a popular magazine wanted him on its cover. Zayn hasn’t had such a good day in a long time.

He orders lunch from Nandos and is waiting patiently for his food, when the doorbell ring. He picks up his wallet and walks to the door, whistling a tune from a song he recently recorded. His breath stops and so does his whistling when he sees who was at the door.

“Harry!” He hisses, his throat clogging painfully, taking in Harry’s appearance – all wide eyes and wild hair. “What are you doing?”

“What are _you_ doing?” Harry snaps, his voice unnaturally loud as he pushes his way inside and slams the door behind him.

Although Zayn’s heart rate was out of control, hell be damned if he let it show. “By all means, come right in,” he says, sarcasm being his best defence mechanism.

Harry turns on him, his green eyes stormy as he shoves Zayn hard. “Fuck you Zayn Malik! Fuck you to hell!”

Zayn doesn’t know why Harry is angry. Yesterday he was apologising. Zayn had thought it was over. That Harry would be off his back. Now, he is confused. “Huh?”

“You know what, Zayn? I’m so mad at you right now, I could actually beat you up.”

Zayn doesn’t doubt that Harry is mad at him. He is red in the face as he looms over Zayn, who takes two tentative steps back. If it were back when they had been together, he would have goaded Harry more, just for fun, but things are different now.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t care?” Harry yells.

“Care about what?”

“That everything was a lie,” Harry spits out. “Fucking hell, Zayn! And then you send Louis over to tell me to stay away from you? How dare you, Malik!”

Zayn winces. Shit. He hadn’t sent Louis. That is just Louis being an over-protective friend. “What did Louis tell you?”

Harry looks at him in utter disbelief. “Of all the things to concern you right now, you care about what Louis told me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you out of your fucking mind? What were you thinking?”

Zayn’s reign on his temper had never been great. He couldn’t stand people shouting at him. Well, he would have tolerated a temper tantrum from Harry if he hadn’t been storing his own anger for more than three years. “What was I thinking? What the fuck, Harry? I don’t think you gave me a minute to think before you started blabbing nonsense to the media and acting like you couldn’t care less.”

“So you will lie to me for three fucking years straight?”

“Get out!” Zayn shouts. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

Harry stands his ground. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I didn’t fucking lie to you! I never lied! You didn’t want to know the truth! You didn’t give me a chance to explain! You just went off pretending like I didn’t matter to you at all!” Zayn takes a deep breath and his heart feels like it’s lodged painfully in his throat. “And now you come barging in here demanding answers! You are not getting anything from me, Harry! Not one single fucking thing! You chose to walk away from the truth! You chose to leave me! You chose to believe the worst of me! You chose to throw away everything we had! And now I have nothing to say to you!”

“Zayn…”

“Oh, shut up, Harry! You’ve been saying quite enough! I know what you told Louis about me when I kept calling and you wouldn’t answer. You said you never wanted to see my face again. Well, you got what you wanted. Now get out!” Zayn doesn’t know where all this bitterness is coming from but he feels like he could go on and on.

Harry is looking at him, blinking his eyes, as if dazed. Zayn half expects him to walk out the door, instead, Harry walks to the couch and sat down, his head in his hands, clutching at his hair. Five whole minutes of silence and then Harry says, “I made a horrible mistake, Zayn.”

Zayn hates seeing Harry upset, he always has. A part of him wants to go and comfort Harry, but the other part is scared. He’s learnt self-preservation pretty well by now, he’s also learnt to be scared of life. Because life sucks. Because he can’t bear Harry hurting him again. Because he doesn’t trust anyone. Because he’s had too many panic attacks and breakdowns in the past few years. But mostly because he still loves Harry way too much to go through another painful break-up with him. So, even though he sits down on the sofa opposite to Harry, he doesn’t say a word of consolation.

“I’m so sorry, Zayn.” Harry looks at him, his lips turned down and eyes glassy.

Zayn wants to tell Harry that sorry doesn’t cut it, that he’s suffered through it too long to forgive so easily, that he isn’t the same Zayn who’d left the band three years back anymore. But he doesn’t say any of those things, because he doesn’t want to hurt Harry, because this is Harry after all.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“There’s nothing to say,” Zayn says, simply, staring down at his bare feet.

“Fucking say something, Zayn!”

Zayn doesn’t want Harry around anymore. He can’t fathom seeming weak in front of the boy who used to make his heart skip a thousand beats just by walking into a room, still does, to be honest. Because in no possible universe would Zayn Malik cease to be in love with Harry Styles. The thought itself makes Zayn want to throw up.

“You got a haircut again.” Yeah, that’s the best Zayn can do.

To say Harry looks surprised would be a major understatement. His eyes bug out and he looks at Zayn like he has lost his mind. “Huh,” is all Harry can say.

Zayn squeezes his eyes shut, trying to prevent the bile from rising in his mouth, trying to think of good things. But all the good things in his life are somehow connected to Harry. His mind flashes back to “fucking hell, stop smoking” and “broccolis are good for you” and “I could give you a high that weed wouldn’t dream of” and “I love you even when you sulk and brood during interviews” and “you’re hot babe, you don’t even know it”. At that moment, Zayn cannot think of a single thing that has nothing to do with the guy in front of him.

But they aren’t the same Harry and Zayn anymore. It isn’t the same Zayn who would tease him for being so large and it isn’t the same Harry who would squint his eyes pretending to find Zayn and goad him for being shorter. It isn’t the same Harry who would cook him breakfast in the morning, not the same Zayn who would wait up for Harry to have dinner no matter how late he got home. They aren’t who they used to be, everything has changed.

“I think its best if you left.” Zayn speaks so softly that he is a little afraid that Harry doesn’t hear him and Zayn doesn’t have the will to repeat it.

Several beats passed before Harry looks him in the eye. “Is that what you want?”

No. That isn’t remotely what Zayn wanted. But that is all he and his stupid soul can afford at the moment. So he nods.

Harry doesn’t argue. When he is gone, Zayn picks up the phone and calls Louis. Because who else did he have?


	7. Chapter 7

Flashback -

_“What the fucking hell happened? Who the hell was that man? Where did he come from?”_

_Harry is in his hotel room in Malibu. His business manager, a man named Christian Graybill (someone Harry’s mum has hired and is supposed to be insanely skilled, according to her) is still probably at the hall where the auction has taken place._

_“Mr. Styles, may I ask if you intend for me to attempt to answer these rhetorical questions, or are you venting?”_

_Oh, for fuck’s sake._

_“Well, obviously the latter, Graybill,” Harry says through gritted teeth. “But if you can address the former, you’d have my utmost gratitude.” He mimics Graybill’s clipped English._

_“He went off with the auctioneer, Mr. Styles. If I’d known you’d want me to give pursuit I might have.”_

_Harry sucks in another breath, hoping oxygen would behave like Ativan. “What did he look like?”_

_“He was about five feet nine or ten. A bit darker. Frankly, he looked a bit as though he might have slept in his clothes. His hoodie was pulled almost over his forehead. A bit shabby, if you ask me. Quite like a homeless person. Then I realized he was wearing Gucci sweatpants and Armani sunglasses.”_

_Harry is momentarily speechless. “What in the… how in the….Are you kidding me with this?”_

_“I wouldn’t presume to kid about this, Mr. Styles, given how important the matter seems to be to you. You may thank my wife for my knowledge of Gucci and Armani.” There is a pause. “If the guitar was so important to you, why did you give it up for auction?”_

_Because Harry is an idiot and he hadn’t realized that the guitar he had agreed for auction, completely absent-minded and drunk off his arse, and mad at the world and mostly at one person in particular, until he woke up this morning with a horrible dread and regret and finally realized why he is feeling the way he is. As much as he hates Zayn fucking Malik, he can’t give up his guitar. It’s the guitar Harry has learnt on, written more then half his songs with._

_So he decides to ignore Graybill’s logical question. “Is that all you’ve got on the buyer?”_

_“He wasn’t unattractive, Mr. Styles. His hair was a weird colour but I can’t be sure, because of the hoodie. And he had a disturbing amount of tattoos on his arms.”_

_Harry is momentarily distracted by wondering about Graybill’s marriage, given the things he notices about men. The word “tattoos” pinges somewhere in the vicinity of Harry’s heart, which he uses these days strictly as an organ for pumping blood. But the word is like a little pinprick puncture. And for a millisecond, a slippage in time, he is that kid again. Hurt. Inwardly falling, outwardly frozen. For just a second, however. He might as well be made of rock these days._

_“I do wish I could be of more assistance, Mr. Styles,” Graybill says into the silence. Graybill is starchy, but Harry believes him, because he is a decent guy and his mum has always been great at reading people._

_“What a pity I’m not a police sketch artist, Graybill. Or a psychic. Or both.”_

_“All viable career alternatives, Mr. Styles, should you wish to abandon the stage life.”_

_Harry clears his throat. “That man was attractive, yeah? At least that gives me something to work with.”_

_“I have every confidence on your eventual success, Mr. Styles.”_

_Harry presses the call to an end and stalks out to stand at the balcony of his room. He sucks in a long, cool, deep breath. Maybe it’s a good thing the guitar is gone. Maybe it’ll wipe another bit of Zayn out from his soul._

 

 

 

 

Zayn hesitates in the corridor outside the hotel room where he is supposed to meet Harry and Jeff to sign the contract for the charity single, not sure who to call or who exactly he is waiting for, feeling admirably calm until finally, Harry slowly strides out from what Zayn presumes is the room Jeff has booked.  

Not hurrying.

Of course not. Harry never hurries when he can saunter. He never rushes a damn thing in his life.

Harry reaches out and gives Zayn a hug, and lets go before Zayn can squirm out of it himself. “Why are you dressed like you’re in a meeting?”

“I am at a meeting.” Zayn sounds like his mother does when she is particularly frustrated with one of her kids.

With a laugh, Harry steps closer, so close that Zayn can smell coffee on him. Zayn almost closes the last inch between them so that he can lick him like a lollipop. Just one lick, he tells himself, from sternum to the very low waistband of the basketball shorts…

Harry’s eyes light with wickedness, as if he knows what Zayn is thinking. “Why do you look constipated?”

“I’m not-” Zayn breaks off, glancing at the door Harry has emerged from before purposely lowering his voice. “Constipated!”

“You sure?”

“Very.”

Harry grins, and Zayn feels conflicting reactions – his brain melting and steam coming out of his ears.

“I’m here to work. So kindly find out exactly what we are supposed to do. Go.” Zayn winces because he still sounds like his mum.

“You’re big on these words,” Harry notes. “Go. Get out. Leave.”

It’s a not-so-subtle rebuke, and an unpleasant reminder of their last meeting. And Zayn resents like hell that Harry is throwing it in his face. By leaving the band as he had, Zayn had done Harry the biggest favour of his life. And he still can’t believe Harry refuses to acknowledge that. Besides, Harry certainly hadn’t chased after him. The painful memories rear up and bite him, making Zayn’s voice tight. “We’re not doing this now, Harry.”

“Fine. Later then.”

“Never.”

“Never is a long time,” Harry says evenly, calmly, and since Zayn can’t find his even or calm to save his life, it pisses him off. That Harry can be so relaxed through this conversation makes his fingers itch to pour his own cup of cold coffee right over Harry’s head. Two things stop Zayn. One, Harry would be wet and would probably want to get rid of his tshirt. That would be too much for Zayn to take.

The second problem, the real problem, is that dumping the coffee over his head would show Zayn’s hand to him, because he can make no mistake with Harry. So Zayn thrusts the coffee at him, instead.

Harry accepts with a smile. “Thanks. You got me coffee.”

“Just drink up. You look parched and I don’t want you passing out.” As jokes go, Zayn’s is lamer than Harry’s ever were.

“Aw. You care.”

“Don’t tell me I never got you coffee before.” Zayn pretends to be flippant to ignore the constriction of his heart.

“You care,” Harry repeats softly.

Zayn pauses, but there is no reason not to admit it. “Yes, I care.”

Harry looks at him for a long moment, clearly surprised at the admission. Then he breaks eye contact and downs the cold coffee Zayn’s given him in approximately two huge swallows. He tosses the disposable cup into the trashcan a few feet away from them and looks at Zayn again. “I couldn’t do this with that in my hand.”

“Do what?”

Holding Zayn by the shoulders, Harry’s eyes filling with a quiet intensity, he lowers his head. “Stop me if you’re going to,” he says in quiet demand, all humour gone.

Zayn sucks in some air, but does not stop Harry. Not when his lips come down on Zayn’s, and not when he kisses Zayn until Zayn can’t remember his own name.

 

 

 

Dazed, Harry tightens his grip on Zayn, hearing the groan that his kiss wrenched from deep in his throat. Zayn is kissing him after everything that has happened. Harry couldn’t be more surprised if Zayn had decked him.

Zayn pulls back slightly and Harry smiles. “Are you punishing me or something?”

“Yes.” Zayn’s fingers curl into his tshirt. “So shut up.”

Harry is still smiling when Zayn kisses him this time, but the amusement fades fast, replaced by a blinding all consuming need.

All too soon, Zayn pulls back again, eyes dark and mouth wet from Harry’s. “Is there anyone in your room?” he asks, his voice low and more Bradford than Harry has heard from him in the longest time.

Harry loves the way Zayn’s accent thickens when he feels something particularly deeply. “No,” he says. “There’s no one in my room.” Except for Zayn, hopefully. Soon.

“Just wanted to be sure.” With each word, Zayn’s lips barely graze Harry’s, making him all hotter.

Harry pushes Zayn into the room and kicks the door shut with his foot. Harry has him divested of the blue jacket and is working on the buttons of his white dress shirt, thinking this is the best idea he has had all week since coming back from Zayn’s place. No more dancing around each other. From now on, all their dancing will be done naked. Naked is good. Naked is great.

Zayn appears to feel the same.  His hands are everywhere, his chest, his arms, his arse, stroking and tormenting. The only sound is their heavy breathing and the sexy little murmur Zayn lets out when Harry licks his neck.

Harry remembers that sound. He’s dreamed about that sound. Zayn writes under his touch, pressing closer. His fingers find their way beneath Harry’s t-shirt, running lightly over the skin low on his abs, just above his shorts.

Harry wants more and takes it, letting his hands do the walking and talking beneath Zayn’s clothes. There is no question about what they are doing now, or why. No thinking. Just feeling and he is feeling a whole hell of a lot. Soul-deep, wrenching hunger. And need.

Nothing new when it comes to Zayn.

But Harry has no idea what Zayn feels. He’s always been good at holding back. He doesn’t seem to be holding back now. Zayn’s touch feels so damn good Harry’s eyes nearly roll back in his head, and that is before Zayn goes for the button on his Calvin Klein shorts, banishing his ability to think. _Yeah, baby, go there._

Zayn plays with the loose waistband of his jeans for a minute and Harry groans.

“Harry,” he sighs. His lips travel down Harry’s throat to the base of his neck, when he licks Harry at his throbbing pulse. “Mmm,” Zayn says, then nips him. when Harry jumps, he feels Zayn’s smile against him.

“You think you’re so funny,” Harry asks, dipping his head to return the favour.

“What the fuck?” Jeff says from the doorway.

“I had hoped I woul One Direction.” 

They both jerk back at Liam’s voice. “Liam!” Zayn scrambles away from Harry. “What you doing here, mate?”

“I saw Jeff at the lounge and he said he has a surprise for me upstairs,” Liam grins as he jumps in the bed to give Zayn a big hug.

“I didn’t mean this kind of surprise,” Jeff says, obviously disgruntled.

“I’ve missed you, man,” Zayn says, his voice muffled against Liam’s shoulders.

Harry watches with a disturbing amount of jealousy as Zayn hugs Liam back and doesn’t resist while Liam pins him to the bed.

 

 

 

An hour later, Harry is sat at the bar of the hotel, having finished off his formalities with the contract, leaving Zayn, Liam and Jeff up in his hotel room to catch up. The place is busy, which usually gives him a surge of panic. But he knows his bodyguard is only a few feet away. Hugh has been with Harry since he’s started his solo career, someone his mum has hired.

He wishes he had a simple lifestyle, where he didn’t need a person walking behind him every step of the way. He’s grown up simple and his mum still lives as simply as possible.

“Earth to Harry.” Liam Payne waves a hand in Harry’s face. “You okay? Or do you need a moment alone?”

“No, I’m good. I’m good.”

“It’s great to see you, mate.” Liam smiles at him, as he looks Harry up and down like an older brother would a younger one, for scrapes and bruises. “And that too in normal clothes. It isn’t Harry Styles unless he’s leaving sparkles in his wake, innit these days?”

It could have been a jab at the clothes Harry chooses to wear, but this is Liam. Liam has a heart of gold. Harry knows he means well. “It’s a dull kinda day, Payno.”

“So what was that upstairs?”

Harry knows Liam likes order. Calm order. Things that aren’t supposed to be but are bothers Liam. He follows rules and makes sure everyone does too. “It was going to be something if you and Jeff hadn’t interrupted,” Harry says coyly, knowing it would freak Liam out.

Except it doesn’t. He grins widely. “So you two back on talking terms, I see. This has to be good.”

“We’re not talking,” Harry shrugs. “He’s not talking. I want to talk.”

Liam lifts a brow. “You losing your charm?”

“What? No.”

“What then? I’ve never known Zayn to be able to resist you.”

“Shut up. You don’t know the half of it. I’m in a big puddle of shit-ish mess here. Having sex isn’t going to solve it.”

Liam scowls. “That’s something I have been trying to teach you lads for god only knows how long. Aren’t you the one who told me that there isn’t a problem on earth that sex couldn’t solve?”

“I was an idiot.” Harry sighs. “And where has this great advice of yours gotten you, huh?”

“It got me some great bedside treatment from the women.”

Harry snorts. “What women?”

“Hey, I have women.”

“Women on porn sites don’t count.”

“You’re being an arsehole,” Liam says mildly. “It’s a sign of age.”

“You’re older than me,” Harry reminds him.

“Yeah, but I’m better looking. I’m also not picking a fight just to be a dumbass.”

“I’m not a dumbass.”

Liam slid a glance at him. “You’re dumb and you’re being an ass. Dumbass.”

Harry blows out a breath. “I’m at the end of my rope here, Liam. Zayn won’t talk to me. Louis is furious at me. And Niall was shagging my sister.”

“And?”

“And apparently, you knew all about it because that isn’t the face of a surprised person.”

“And?”

“And…” Shit. Harry has nothing.

“Admit it,” Liam says. “The only thing that bothers you among that list is the fact that Zayn isn’t talking to you.”

Harry shoves his fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”

“There you are!”

Harry jumps at Nicholas Grimshaw’s booming voice as he struts up to the bar. Harry has totally forgotten that he had asked to meet Nick in the hotel for lunch. Great. Just what he needs. More prodding. “Heard someone’s in the premises from Hugh there. How’s it going with Mr. Dreamy?”

Harry shrugs. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb, Harry Styles. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Actually, it does,” Liam says, helpfully.

“Zayn,” Nick says to Harry. “I’m talking about Zayn.”

Harry sighs deeply. Nick doesn’t have a filter or a boundary. “We’re not discussing this, Nick.”

“Well, maybe you’re not. But Liam and I are. You need to look sharp. Sharp.” Nick reaches over and jabs Harry in the gut with his bony finger. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah, I’m listening.” Harry rubs his belly. “And ouch.”

Nick proceeds to smack Harry upside the head.

“Stop that!” Harry snarls out.

“You need to stop. Stop messing around. It’s time to get serious now, Harry. For once in your life.”

Nick is right, Harry knows. Which is weird. Because Nick is never right. But Harry has spent a lot of time with Nick the past few years and he has seen Harry struggle to recover in the aftermath of the storm that had been One Direction. He should start giving Nick more credit from now on.

 

 

 

Zayn’s stomach is in knots by the time he reaches his new home from the meeting with Jeff. He’s thought and over-thought about what just happened or almost with Harry. The funny thing is Zayn knows better, yet he can’t seem to stay the fuck away from Harry Styles.

He opens the door to his home and walks in on a scene which gives him a weird sense of de ja vu. Louis, is sprawled on the sofa, with Niall on the floor, munching away at popcorn as they argue over some movie that is playing on his television screen.

Neither of them bother to acknowledge his appearance and he throws his keys at Louis’ head, but his aim is so abysmal that it ends up at the other end of the room. Louis barely even flinches.

“What is going on here?” Zayn says, sliding down on the other vacant sofa.

Although, he does feel weirdly happy because this is something which would be a regular thing back in the days. Niall would insist on Harry Potter and Louis on Superhero movies and Louis would end up winning since both Zayn and Liam would side with him. Harry’s opinion never mattered as none of them wanted to watch Rom-Coms. They’d had some legendary arguments over movie choices which had ended up in literal fist fights.

"What? Can't we hang out at your new place?" Niall says innocently, darting a glance at Louis.

"No, you're welcome any time, Nialler," Zayn says and then nods at Louis. "It's this one's presence that's making me a bit suspicious."

Louis’ gaze swings at Zayn from where he has been staring at the television screen so far, and he narrows his eyes, as if offended. "Fine. I'll go then."

Zayn knows Louis is probably bluffing but nonetheless, he doesn't want to take the chance. "That's not what I meant, Lou." He pauses. "So I met Harry at the hotel," he mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. “And then Liam turns up.”

"What happened?" Louis is back to staring at the TV.

"It was what it was, I guess."

"Was it better than last time at your place?"

"Just marginally," Zayn replies, with a grimace.

Niall, who has looked confused during this exchange, switches off the TV and glares at them. "Will somebody explain to me what’s going on?"

Louis grins at Niall. "Harold got himself kicked out of the house last week when he came to apologize for being a dick to Zayn for this long."

"How was he a dick?"

"For all the insults he spouted in the media and the way he acted about Zayn leaving."

"He did leave, though. Without telling any of us why."

"No he didn't." Louis sighs. “I mean he did. But he had his reasons. Most Zayn-like reasons.”

"What reasons?" Niall shakes his head like Louis has lost his mind. "How come I know nothing about this?"

"Zayn left because Simon made him."

 

 

"What?" Niall yells in shock and the bowl flies out of his hand and lands upside down on the floor, popcorn flying everywhere. "What do you mean Simon made him leave?"

"Means Simon knew Harry wanted the hiatus and he was not having any of it because we signed a six album deal. So he told Zayn that he can leave, make an album of his home as the sixth album and then we could have the hiatus. This twat," Louis gestures at Zayn. "Just thought that would be for the best. Because he’s Zayn and he thinks he knows best and is the only one who can make sacrifices. Captain fucking America."

"But but...." Niall sputters. "Why didn't he just explain that?"

"Because that dick didn't give this dick a chance to explain." Louis groans. “They are made for each other. A pair of big dicks.”

"Harry isn't a dick," Niall defends. "He didn't know the truth."

"He should have tried finding out?"

"How was he supposed to know?"

"He’s supposed knows Zayn better than any of us, innit?" Louis is starting to look plain annoyed. "Besides, does this miserable sod look like he could do what we all thought he did?"

"Could you both not talk about me like I'm not here?" Zayn says, louder than he intends.

Niall looks at him with a bit of pity and some sympathy. "Maybe you should stop being so fixated over Harry and maybe, pick another guy."

Zayn snorts. It’s just like Niall to give an advice like that. Forget about it, move on. That's what Niall does to avoid feelings. Zayn refrains himself from pointing that out, instead says, "Why are you so interested in getting me away from Harry? Are you two doing the dirty?"

"What! No!" Niall scrunches up his face as if he is offended at the idea. "Fuck you, Zayn," he adds, for good measure.

"Well it wouldn't be that surprising, really," Zayn says, casually. "Seeing as how you have that thing for Gemma. They’re siblings, after all."

"What thing for Gemma?" Louis asks, confused.

"Niall here was seeing Gemma for six whole months. How do you not know this?" Zayn stared at Louis as if he is from another planet.

Louis looks shocked for a moment before whirling around at Niall. "Is this true? About Gemma?"

"No, of course not!" Niall says, without looking him in the eye. “I mean, yeah I was seeing her. But its over now. I don’t have a thing for her.”

Zayn snorts. "Oh, come on, Nialler.”

"Why does everyone think this?"

"Because its true, apparently, by the look on your blushing face" Louis rolls his eyes. "Duh." Zayn is honestly a little amused at how much of a teenage girl Louis sounds like.

Niall looks alarmed and a little embarrassed, as he rounds on Louis with a glare that would make an elephant back off. "We didn't come here for this."

"What did you come here for?" Zayn asks, curious again.

"Well, we're here to motivate you to be a bit proactive in your life choices." Niall looks proud at his ability to frame such a meaningful sentence.

"What he means is you have to move your butt and do something about the whole Harry situation," Louis says.

Zayn knows that there is no point arguing with the two of them, mostly because he doesn't want to argue and also, he is at a dead end with all things Harry and he wants a logical solution. “What am I going to do?”

"Look, Zaynie," Niall said. "You’ve got to give him a chance. He’s the youngest one of us and he acts all sorted, but he’s always been a mess. Cut him some slack, hear him out."

Louis chuckles at Niall. "For a person who's never had a serious relationship, you do know a lot, Nialler."

"You mean I've never had a fake relationship like all of you big fools." Niall shrugs his shoulders. "I've had..... ummmm.... dates."

"Like that one time you thought Selena Gomez liked you," Zayn teases.

"Or that time when you slept with Ellie right under Ed's nose," Louis puts in.

"Or that time when you were papped snogging some random girl at a carnival."

"Or was it when you had a relationship with your bandmate’s sister that didn’t mean anything?"

"Alright enough!" Niall says, turning an interesting shade of red. "We're not here to discuss about my prowess, are we?”

"Geez, Nialler, did you swallow a dictionary on the way here?" Louis is still cackling with laughing.

Niall throws popcorn at him. Zayn looks at the two grown arse men in front of him behaving like 5 year olds and feels a longing in his heart he hasn't in years. He misses his band mates. He misses the silly times they'd had, the amount of time they had spent touring were golden and Zayn knows he is never getting those days back. He misses the friendship, the understanding the five of them had shared without even having to speak out about it, most of the time.

He wonders how far he'd have gotten if he hadn't been put in a band, if he'd never met the four idiots he considers family. He cannot imagine having the guts to get tattoos if it hadn't been for Louis, cannot think of a life without knowing Niall, cannot think of how he would have learnt to put his thoughts into words without Liam pushing them out of him. Then there is Harry. He can't imagine his world without Harry in it, without his abysmal sense of humour, his ability to make every problem appear small, the way he had helped Zayn through all the stupid doubts in his head. Without Harry he would have been just Zayn, this boy from this small town, without any idea of how the world worked.

"Zayn?"

Zayn is pulled out of his thoughts by Niall shaking his shoulders. "Huh?"

"You zoned out, mate."

"Yeah, sorry."

Louis looks at him, eyes narrowed. "So what are you going to do?"

"Why did Harry buy a house here?" It had been going through Zayn's head for a long time. He and Harry used to a house in London, which Zayn hasn't stepped foot in since he’d left the band, figuring Harry would still be using it. Same with their house in LA. "And where does he stay in LA?"

Niall groans. "You should ask all this to Zayn."

"Come on, Niall. I'm not asking for much."

"He didn't want to stay at your house, either in London or in LA. He stayed with me a few days before buying that new house in London. LA he mostly used to avoid, because you would be there most of the time. He wouldn't stay long if he went also, at least that's what he told me."

"Why didn't he stay at our… the other… place?"

"He said that's your place."

"It was for both of us..."

"I dunno, Zayn."

"Niall!"

Niall looks exasperated. "Look he missed you too bad. He wasn't having the best time, either. He lost Robin. He wasn’t sharing with his mum and Gemma. He had noone."

That made Zayn feel even worse about the whole situation. “Okay,” he whispers.


	8. Chapter 8

Even surrounded by a whole host of people, Zayn cannot take his eyes off Harry Styles. Even after so many years and heartbreaks, he seems to have an unexplainable hold on him. He is wearing a garishly yellow suit with yellow pants and the only normal clothing item on his body, a black shirt. Zayn wonders what it is about Harry. Fuck if he knows.

A soft cough pulls his attention from him and over to Harry’s mum, who has clearly caught him ogling. Shit. Anne Twist doesn’t miss much. Rubbing the back of his neck, he tries to ignore the prickly sensation crawling along his skin and focus on the party before him. At least the throngs of wealthy guests would help distract Anne from whatever mission she is about to undertake. She has taken over the charity which used to be handled for years by Louis’ mum for children suffering from cancer. Zayn has given the last few years a miss, but now that he and Louis are friends again, he hasn’t been able to get out of it. Besides, this is also the charity he and Harry are donating to. And Anne is hosting this at her own home and has called him personally to make sure he attends.

“Let’s mingle,” Anne says in a tone that brooks no argument as she hooks her arm through Zayn’s and starts walking.

He shakes his head, but doesn’t tell her to go mingle with her own son. He loves Anne like his own mother and there is nothing in the world he will do to upset her. The throngs of charity guests part as though he is walking with Queen Elizabeth herself across the red carpet, a person nodding at them here, another waving at them there. Anne acknowledges them but doesn’t stop. She guides them to where Liam and Niall are stood. Dammit. Zayn has been trying to avoid them too. He is in no mood to listen to the lecture Niall is bound to give or the sympathy from Liam.

“A mother has some dreams, you know,” she says with a sigh she must have practiced for hours.

Zayn laughs and lets go of her hand to give her a tight hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you, Anne.”

“And I’ve missed you, my love.” She squeezes his arm, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth – a mouth almost exactly like the one Harry has. “You look so handsome, darling.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zayn notices Harry weaving through the crowd, heading for Liam and Niall, but as he nears them, in true Harry Styles fashion, he trips over his own feet. Zayn tenses just as Liam catches hold of Harry’s elbow while Niall just laughs loud enough for the entire room to hear, the sound coming out like an actual “hahaha”.

“You need to fix this, Zayn,” Anne says, drawing his attention back to her. “You were best friends. This… this coldness between you five needs to be fixed.”

“Why only me?” Zayn shrugs, like he couldn’t give a fuck about his ex-bandmates. In reality, he can barely look away from the four of them laughing their arses off over something Louis is saying, having joined the huddle. “Fixing broken bromances isn’t my thing.”

“Fixing things has always been your thing. Harry and Louis have completely ruined their friendship. I don’t know what’s going on with you boys anymore.”

“But Anne…”

“I’m saying that love conquers all.” She gets that misty look in her eyes. “Now go do the fixing you secretly want to do anyway.” With that, she presses a kiss on his cheek and walks away.    

Zayn watches the four of them for a while – Liam and Louis are stamping each other’s feet like the 5-year olds they actually are and Niall seems to be explaining something to Harry, who is listening attentively.  Zayn feels a rush of emotions he hasn’t felt in a long time – regret, loss and wonder. Regret because he still isn’t sure his decision is the right one, loss because he feels like he simultaneously let go of four people who matters the most to him and wonder because he cannot imagine he survived so long without their crazy banter. But Zayn isn’t stupid enough to walk to where they are stood.

 

 

 

Twenty minutes.

Gemma decides that she'll give his mum twenty more minutes before ducking out of her fancy charity event and driving back to London. Normally she'd enjoy these affairs, but she has a lot of things in her mind and she especially wants to avoid one specific person.

"Gemma." Harry steps up to her side and slips an arm around her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" Her answer is quick. Too quick.

A frown appears on her brother's face, but before he can say anything, Louis’ sister, Lottie joins them with a large smile on her face. "So you wouldn't mind doing a couple of shots with me then? I feel like I don't see you anymore."

"I'm very busy you know," Gemma says, feeling marginally better than she has all evening. "Unlike you fools, being popstars and influencers, I have a real job."

Harry flips her off. "Oh buzz off! You're still my nerdy sister!"

She reaches up and ruffles his hair. "Love the new locks, Curly."

"Not my hair, Gems!" He protests, batting her hand away.

Lottie's shoulder shakes with silent laughter. "We'll never get over your curls."

And it’s then she spots Niall. It’s more she hears him before seeing him. his laugh is loud and contagious. She turns to where he is stood, poking at Zayn’s nipples as the older man tries to bat his hand away. The feeling in her heart is so annoying. She needs to get away.

Twenty minutes later, she wanders off towards the main house and into the kitchen. She shakes her head, opening the fridge door and taking out a glass of chilled water. She needed to calm down, not think so much about Niall. Whatever has happened between them or not happened, it’s all over now. If Niall can pretend like nothing had happened, the least she can do is stay the fuck away from him.

"Thought I might find you here."

Gemma jerks in surprise and the glass falls from her hand, shattering on the floor. Great. Just what she needs. Glass and water sprays over her bare feet and legs. Something sharp stabs into her foot as she quickly steps forward to prevent Niall walking on any glass shards.

"Don't move. Dammit, Gemma!"

She gives him a look which makes it clear that she isn't a kid.

Niall extends his hand at her. "Here. Jump over the mess."

She grimaces a little bit, feeling like a damsel in distress but takes his hand. Niall puts his other hand on her waist and lifts her clear off where the water and the glass are.

"Gemma!"

"What now?"

"You're cut," he grips her shoulder and lift her up on the kitchen counter.

She looks down at her heel where a piece of glass is sticking out of her skin and blood is oozing from the wound. She hates blood. "Ugh," she says. “Oh, jeez!”

"Are you going to pass out?" Niall gets several kitchen towels from the drawer next to her and then smirks, raising an eyebrow.

She scowls. "Shut up!"

He snickers. She doesn't know why the sight of her pain and nausea is so funny to him. "Cover your eyes when I pull out the glass."

Her stomach rolls and she instantly squeezes her eyes shut. "Do it fast."

With one hand holding her foot to keep her still, Niall says, "Okay. On three. Ready?"

"Will you just do it?"

"One, two..."

A sharp burning pain shoots across her skin and then something warm and soft covers the spot.

"Done," he says. "You can look now."

"That wasn't three," she complains, opening her eyes to look at Niall's smiling blue ones.

"It's out, isn't it? You're such a little chicken, Styles!" He turns around and opens another drawer, where they both know her mum keeps first aid supplies.

Niall presses the towel to her ankle but she still refuses to look at it. Instead, she sticks out her tongue at him. "I'm not a chicken."

"Right," he says, putting what feels like a bandage on the wound. He presses the sides and strokes the area a few times, placing a soft kiss on it, before looking up at her. "Okay now? Think you can walk?"

"Of course," she says and jumps down from the counter. Sharp pain spirals outward from the spot and she hisses in a breath.

"That's what I thought," Niall says, slipping his hand around her waist. "Think you might need some stitches. I can drive you to the hospital."

She groans, as another wave of nausea hits her at the thought of a hospital. "God no! I'll heal fine."

"Suit yourself," he says, as they walk side by side out of the kitchen. "Though I gotta say, you did way better than last time."

She wobbles a little bit on her feet and feels his grip around her waist tighten. "Don't know what you mean?"

He grins. "Oh really? Are you telling me that you don't remember what happened that one time I broke my finger in your kitchen?"

Gemma shrugs. Truth is she remembers that day like it was yesterday. He had slipped on the floor, fallen down at an odd angle and broken the pinky finger of his left hand. She’d panicked horribly bad. It had been quite embarrassing. "The bone was sticking out of your finger," she says now, in disgust.

"You're such a chicken, Styles," he says again, this time far more affectionately and her heart flutters a little bit at that. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"You don't have to..."

"Hey! If you put pressure on your leg, it might start bleeding again and then you might pass out because of that blood. We don't want that."

"I'm not going to pass out, Niall!" She says through gritted teeth. “And getting into your car is the last thing I want to do.”

Niall’s happy face scrunches up. He abruptly lets go of her and steps back. “Fine, then.”

Gemma tries to walk, but the pain is overwhelming. Niall continues to glare at her as he scoops her up in his arms.

 

 

 

“Does this little toy car of yours have heated seats?” Gemma asks as she peers at the fancy buttons of his sports car.

Wordlessly, Niall punches a button and turns his attention back to the road. Gemma studies him out of the corner of her eye. She knows that her refusal for a ride has pissed him off. She knows him long enough to know that silence and Niall are never a good combination.

“You shouldn’t have offered me a ride if you were going to sulk the entire time,” she says.

“Had I known that you were going to chatter the whole way, I probably wouldn’t have offered.”

Gemma straightens her shoulders and gazes out of the passenger window and tries not to let his words sting. Niall makes a sharp turn to take a side-street detour, and Gemma braces her hand against the dash, surprised by the sudden movement. She is about to nag him for driving like a freaking NASCAR driver when his outburst obliterates the sudden silence.

“What the fuck do you want from me, Gemma?” he explodes.

She snaps her head around to look at his clenched profile. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sick of this. Sick of acting like those six months meant nothing. Sick of pretending not to give a shit about the fact that you don’t give a shit.” His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel.

“What …”

But he isn’t done. “Harry isn’t talking to me. Do you get that? He’s furious. He will barely even look at me. He’s my best mate, Gemma. For what? You aren’t talking to me either. So all this was for nothing! Nothing! You made me the villain, didn’t you? Do you realise how selfish you’re being in this whole situation? You won’t even tell me why you ended things. One minute we were in bed, planning to tell Harry and your mum and the next minute you were gone.”

The unprovoked attack sends a river of emotions rolling through her, the anger hitting her the hardest. The sharpness of her anger is followed by a quick automatic denial. Niall doesn’t even know why she had left. And she isn’t going to tell him. not even if her life depends on it.

But the questions bring unwanted memories. The car crash, the sterile hospital room, the doctor telling her how very very sorry he was for her loss.

Hurt.

And then. Oh no. Not tears. Not now. She cannot let Niall Horan see her cry. No freaking way.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” she says, the words soggy.

“Shit,” he says softly.

_Exactly_.

He pulls over to the side of the road and Gemma is surprised to see through the haze of her tears that they are outside her condo building. Grabbing her purse, she fumbles at the door, desperate to escape Niall and the flood of emotions he’s thrown at her.

“Thanks for the ride,” she mutters tersely.

Again with the damn manners! She should be telling him to go screw himself, but even at her most vulnerable, she can’t get the words out.

“Pet,” he says softly, putting a hand on her arm.

Her heart clenches at the nickname that he’d always called her. “Don’t, Niall,” she hisses.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he says, not breaking eye contact. “I just want to know what happened, pet. Is that too much to ask?”

“Because nothing happened, Niall! We fucked! It ended! It wasn’t ever a commitment from my side. It never meant anything to me,” she says scathingly, hating the words she hears coming out of her mouth.

“I know you don’t mean that!” he says more sharply. “That’s not true and you know it. You’re just lying to get rid of me.”

“Oh really?” she scoffs. “And how do you know me so well?”

“Because I know you, Gemma. I’ve known you for years now. You’re not a roll-in-the-hay type of a girl. You make commitments. You live for commitments.”

“Why are you acting like this?” she whispers, staring into his blazing blue eyes. “Why can’t you just let it go?”

“God, Gemma.” He turns away and stares out the front of the car, running his fingers through his dark hair and muttering a string of curses.

“Why are you doing this now?”

“Why? Why?!” His voice has taken on an agitated tone, and he sounds completely unlike the fun and goofy Niall she knows so well.

“This is why, Gemma.”

A rough hand slides behind the nape of her neck and jerks her over to the driver’s side seat. Firm lips slam down on hers as he holds her head still and takes control of her mouth.

She parts her lips on a surprised gasp and his tongue flicks teasingly across her bottom lip. Gemma moans. She doesn’t know if this is supposed to be her punishment, her embarrassment, or more ammunition that he will later use against her, and she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care that she shouldn’t be doing this, doesn’t care that she is lying awkwardly across the middle console of his car. She doesn’t care that he probably has some sort of agenda or that she is most certainly going to regret this in the morning.

Because at the moment, all she cares about is kissing Niall.

His tongue slides against hers in a silky stroke and she moans again. Winding her arms around his neck, Gemma presses closer, letting her tongue tangle with his in a kiss that isn’t civilized or rehearsed or practised.

His hands tilt her head to the side so he can press deeper, and this time it’s Niall who lets out a low groan. His mouth breaks away from hers, and his lips softly presses against the side of her mouth, skimming along her jaw before gently brushing her cheek, her eyelids.

 

 

 

Five minutes later, they are inside her flat. She pushes his jacket off his shoulder to get nearer, as he leaves her mouth and trails kisses down her throat. Her fingers find the edge of his shirt and slide under. His skin is under fire where she runs her hands over his bare stomach and chest. With a groan, he lifts her and drops her on the couch. He strips off his shirt and he kisses her again. She pulls at his shoulders in desperate need.

"Slow down, pet," he whispers against her lips, trying to work the zipper of her dress.

"Wait," she gasps suddenly.

He pushes down her dress and stares. "Jesus." It’s all he can say and even that comes out as a shocked whisper as he stares at Gemma's body. Scars, too many to count. Most angry and purple, a few white and thin, just below her breasts and spanning across her stomach.

Gemma just lies there, her breath coming hard and fast. A part of his brain wants to ask her what had happened, the other part wants to hit something or someone. When he finally meets her eyes, they are filled with such sorrow that his stomach turns. Her fingers shake as she pulls up the dress and slides out from under him. Too shocked to stop her, he watches as if in slow motion while his mind still struggles to catch up.

She moves across the room, her steps slow and shaky, until she stops at the windows. He swallows hard, past the rocks in his throat and takes a step towards her. "Gemma?"

She lifts one trembling hand. "Don't."

Silence weighs in the room for what feels like eternity. "What...?" He doesn't even know what to ask. He wants to know, also he doesn't. "Gemma."

She stares silently out in the darkness for so long he thinks that she won't answer. When she does, her voice is too thin, too far away. "I was in an accident. In Ibiza, a few months after I left London. A drunk driver missed a red light. It was touch and go for a while."

The words crawl over his skin like acid. He doesn't know what to say, he doesn't think there is anything he can say.

"When I woke up, I was in the ambulance. There was so much blood, I was wet with it."

Niall reaches her, his hand going to her shoulders. He is still speechless. “Harry never told me.”

“Harry doesn’t know. Neither does mum. Robin was sick. Please don’t tell anyone Niall.”

He can’t believe what he is hearing. She had suffered alone while recovering from such a horrific accident. “What…”

"You should go, Niall."

"Gemma."

"Just go, please."

He walks out, knowing it isn't the right thing, not knowing what else he can do. Had she endured all of that alone? He's been groaning about the past two years like some stupid child when she'd gone through something like that without a single soul by her side.   

 

 

 

When Niall leaves, Gemma walks to her fireplace and looks over at the mantle. She stares at the numerous framed photographs she’d put there when she’d redecorated last year. Happy ones, of Harry and her, all laughs and madness, many with the boys, several with her mum and Robin, some with her old friends. She traces a hand over the dust that has settled on the frames and picked up one. It had been a favourite of hers, one of her, Liam and Niall. She doesn’t even know why she has kept this photo there. She is pointing at a completely drenched Liam and laughing with her mouth open and Niall is gazing at her with the widest grin on his handsome face.

She lifts up the skirt of her dress and wipes the dust off the glass. She remembers the moment that photo had been taken like it was yesterday. She’s been visiting Harry during their stadium tour in 2014. It was right after the rehearsal at San Siro. The boys had been hyper because they were filming that venue. Louis and Zayn had been so high on caffeine that they'd been goofing up continuously and running around like ten-year-olds on a sugar rush . Liam having finally gotten sick of them, had yelled at Louis and in reciprocation he had dumped a whole bottle of water on Liam fifteen minutes before stage time. Gemma had laughed so hard that her stomach had ached and their tour photographer had taken the shot.

Gemma sees two drops of water fall on the frame in her hand and wonders if there is a leak in her flat. It takes her several minutes to realize that she is the leak and that she is sobbing uncontrollably. She sits down on the floor, clutches the photo against her chest and cries.

Her grief is so profound in that moment that she forgets where she even was. She doesn't know how long she sits like that, chest heaving in sobs and shoulders slumped under the burden of the memories that won't stop coming. She had left London and Niall the day she’d found out that she was pregnant. She’d had a job offer from Spain lying around, because things with Niall had been getting serious. But she wasn’t going to drag Niall over a baby scandal. Not when Louis had gone through shit, just followed by Liam. Niall had just released his first single and was on such a high over the radio tour he’d just finished. She wasn’t going to ruin his career like that.

She’d taken the job and moved away. She hadn’t wanted the child, until she’d actually lost it in the accident. Yeah, she’d been irresponsible. None of it would have happened if she’d stayed in London. She’d killed a little one because she’d been too scared. A coward. The guilt had consumed her whole. So she didn’t tell a soul about the accident. She recovered on her own thinking that’s what she deserved. Harry was just starting his album work and Robin was sick. Anne was overwhelmed with his treatments. They didn’t need to redundantly worry about her because all of it had been her own fault.

"Gemma! What in hell are you doing?"

Her stomach flips as she catches sight of Harry standing right in front of her, his face scrunched in fear. The panic in his voice only raked fingers across a chalkboard. She doesn't want to seem pathetic to him, crying over a something that had been over two years back.

"Are you blind?" She bites out, embracing her complete loser status.

"Well," he says, his tone matter of fact as he dropped down next to her. "You didn't have to have a fucking breakdown on your own. You could have called, I would have gladly given you some company."

"I wanted to be alone," she sniffs.

"Yeah well. Everyone freaked out hen you disappeared and mum probably had a heart attack. I called Niall because he was gone too and he said he dropped you here."

Guilt sneaks in as she envisions everyone worrying about her. She should have told someone. "Does mum know?"

"No. Figured you wouldn't want her to know."

"Thanks."

He sighs heavily and presses his back against the wall. "Want to tell me what happened?"

"No."

"Gems...."

She drops the frame on the ground and slides closer to her brother. "I'm such a fucking mess."

"Oh love," Harry put his hand on her back and rubbed it soothingly. "Nobody is judging. Certainly not me. You're allowed to be a mess."

That hits her hard. "Don't," she says. "Just don't. I should stop being so pathetic and just move on."

"Gemma," he says, his voice soft and serious. "You take all the time you need. And maybe it will help if you shared."

Frustration skyrockets. She wishes she could share. "Nothing, Harry. I’m just a bit lonely. And I missed Robin today. He was always a hoot at these things. But I will be fine. Hell I'm the goddess of fine." Her eyes tears up again.

He bumps his leg against hers playfully. "Hey the goddess of fine would never cry."

Gemma chuckles through her tears. "What would I even do without your wit and humour, you knobhead?"

"You'd probably keel over and die."

"Oh shut up Harry."

"I am irreplaceable," Harry smirks, complete with a smug look.

"I love you, Harry.”

“I love you more, Gems.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a much shorter chapter than usual.

Harry Styles usually maintains a very strict list of Do Nots.

Hair straightening. Trans fats. Sticky candies. Tequila. Boring clothes. Flying economy. Casual sex. Zayn Malik.

The last two items on his list are completely unrelated, of course. At least, they are supposed to be. But ever since their half fuck at the hotel, when Liam and Jefffrey had interrupted them, Harry can’t seem to separate “Zayn” and “sex”. And after the five helpings of scotch that he has just consumed with his sister, to help cheer her up, it is getting a lot harder to remember why exactly “Zayn Malik” and “casual sex” are on his Do Not list at all.

Combining the two will not be so horrible, will it?

 _Yes yes, it will be very horrible,_ says his brain. 

 _But fun. Really hot, sexy fun,_ says his dick.

Clearly it is his dick that has done the majority of absorbing the five glasses of scotch. He isn’t drunk, though. Just tipsy. And tipsy is not something Harry often does now-a-days, because it leaves him feeling reckless.

Harry Styles definitely does not do reckless these days. Come to think of it, he should probably add it to his Do Not list. Nothing good ever comes from being impetuous, his mum always says. That is where STDs and broken hearts come from.

And yet, here he is, standing outside Zayn Malik’s home and debating the unthinkable.

It bothers him that they now have houses in the same neighbourhood. Three years of staying the fuck away and this is the end result. Harry notices with a grimace that Zayn has a new friendly blue welcome mat. Why would a man who could barely be civil have a welcome mat?

The dark green of his front door is also all wrong. Harry has hunter-green accents in his own house. The flower pots bother him more than anything. Is he going to stay that long that he wants to grow plants now?

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and tells himself to walk away. “This is insane,” he mutters. “I’m not that drunk.”

There are plenty of less dangerous men with whom he can scratch his itch. That accountant guy from the charity thing tonight who’d slipped him his digits. He is pulling out his cell phone to call a cab when it starts vibrating. His stomach drops when he sees the incoming number.

“Zayn?”

“Harry.” Zayn’s voice is low and gravelly. Harry feels the smart part of him slipping away and his reckless feeling increases tenfold.

“Hi…ummm why are you calling me?” he asks in a too-casual high-pitched voice.

Zayn is silent for several moments. “What are you doing at my front door?”

 _Oh God._ He squeezes his eyes shut. “You know?”

“I saw the cab and watched you teeter up my walkway.”

Harry scowls at that. “Yeah, well, I was just leaving,” he grumbles.

The door opens so suddenly that Harry nearly falls forward. Their eyes lock for several heated moments, and, moving on unspoken agreement, they silently hang up their cellphones without saying another word.

Zayn braces his arm on the doorjamb as though barring Harry’s entrance.

 _Not exactly a welcoming start,_ Harry thinks with a pang. 

Then Zayn’s hand slides up several inches as he lifts his eyebrows, leaving just enough room for Harry to slide under his arm if he wants to.

Harry wants to.

Swallowing dryly, Harry ducks under Zayn’s arm so he is stood in his foyer. Zayn closes the door with a quiet click, and they still say nothing.

Harry studies Zayn closely, waiting for smugness or mockery, but his face is carefully blank.

“I um…I just thought I’d stop by. You know, to say hi, and stuff,” Harry says, his voice husky.

Zayn’s eyebrows quirk at the mention of “stuff,” but instead of giving Harry a hard time, Zayn just nods and gestures towards the kitchen. “Do you want a beer or something?”

“Holy shit, no. I’ve had quite a few,” Harry says, following Zayn into the kitchen.

 Zayn pauses in opening the fridge. “You’re drunk?” Something like disappointment flashes across his face.

“No, just a little buzzy. And getting less so by the minute.”

“Did you go out for drinks after your mum’s party?” Zayn asks, pouring Harry a glass of water.

“No, just went to Gemma’s place.” Harry lowers himself onto the leather bar stool and fixes his eyes on his glass.

“And you came by to say hi,” Zayn says, taking a long swallow of water from the bottle.

“Mm-hmmm,” Harry says, tracing a drip of condensation down the side of his glass.

The scotch buzz is fading, but the recklessness isn’t.

Harry wishes Zayn was his normal rude self, like he has been lately. He wants hot, meaningless anger sex. Something he can walk away from without so much as a bruise on her emotions. This quiet, contemplative Zayn sets Harry on edge.

Harry shakes his head to try and clear it. He is making himself dizzy with all this overthinking. Either he wants to jump his bones or he doesn’t. _Make up your mind_.

“Is this not what you want?” Harry asks.

“What I want,” Zayn murmurs, that low melodic tone creating a flurry of chaotic sparks inside Harry. “Is to hear you moan. I want to strip these ridiculous clothes off you and find out if your skin is still as sweet.” Zayn traps him against the counter and nuzzles Harry’s jaw, delivering the tiniest od licks that ricochet pleasure through Harry. “I want to see you lose it.” Another lick, accompanied by the minute sting of his teeth. “I want to have you all fucking night. That’s what I want, Harry.”

The air that has been trapped in Harry’s throat, choked by lust, expels from him on a long gust of breath. No one has ever made him feel this way. So raw. So honest.

“That make you feel better?” Zayn asks as Harry stands up too, his back still against the counter.

For a moment, Harry wants to run. To flee from Zayn as far as he can. But before he can voice it, Zayn leans closer until their noses bump, until their breaths mate. He places a soft kiss against Harry’s cheek and steps back completely, giving Harry space to run, as if he has read Harry’s mind.

“Now what do you want, Harry?”

“You,” Harry whispers, and there is no doubt, no hesitation.

“Then come here and get me.”

Pushing away from the counter, Harry takes two small steps that separates them and sinks to his knees. Zayn freezes, a stunned look on his face. Clearly, this isn’t what he’s been expecting. A bit surprised himself, Harry pulls Zayn’s dick out of his track pants and boxers.

Zayn presses a hand to Harry’s shoulder, concern on his face. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” is all Harry can say.

Zayn murmurs a protest, which gets cut short when Harry buries his nose in the patch of hair. As he strokes Zayn’s dick. Harry touches his tongue to the head. A sharp hiss breaks from Zayn’s mouth. Encouraged, Harry closes his lips over the tip. He tests the feel in his mouth before going further. When he begins to suck harder, Zayn lets out a whine and twists his fingers in the shirt at Harry’s shoulder. The grip grows tighter and tighter the longer Harry’s mouth works and the more of Zayn he takes in. After a minute, Harry glances up.

Lips parted, Zayn pants, his breaths audible. Despite his obvious arousal, Zayn cups Harry’s jaw. His thumb rasps gently across the stubble as if to smooth away any doubts.

Harry wraps his hand around the base and begins to bob his head, taking as much of Zayn in his mouth as possible. Saliva pools on Harry’s tongue, slicking the way. He enjoys the smooth, salty skin and the weight of Zayn’s dick stretching his mouth, the action erotic as hell.

Harry’s own dick twitches, very much interested in taking things further. He presses his mouth to Zayn’s slit and sucks, seeking his flavour. Zayn digs his fingers into Harry’s shoulder and lets out a long groan, before starting to thrust his hips forward.

Harry moans, his dick growing hard. He likes hearing the noises wrenched from Zayn’s throat.

“Harry,” Zayn whimpers in warning, his thrusts growing faster. “Baby, I’m going to….”

Harry doesn’t pull back. Instead, he grabs Zayn’s arse and shoves him deeper. Zayn cries out as cum hits the back of Harry’s throat. He swallows eagerly around Zayn as he continues to pump his hips, riding out his orgasm, the warm ejaculate pulsing.

Zayn pulls Harry up and crashes his mouth on his. Harry takes a minute to gain his bearings, and then kisses back, nipping and biting. Zayn pulls back and skates his lips and teeth down Harry’s neck. Harry grips Zayn’s hips as Zayn’s hands snakes under his shirt to touch the skin of his stomach.

“Take off your clothes,” Zayn whispers as he does the same. He presses his forehead to Harry’s as their hips churn and their feet move restlessly.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Do you trust me?”

Harry blinks. “Trust you how?”

“To make you feel good.”

Harry moans. “Fuck yes. Zayn. I’d let you do anything to me right now.”

“Stay here,” Zayn whispers and disappears inside.

Harry starts getting rid of the rest of his clothes and before he is even done, he hears the sound of Zayn slicking up his condom-covered cock with lube, then a hand lands on his hip, and a slick finger runs from behind his balls to circle his hole. Harry sucks in a breath and presses his forehead to the wall as Zayn continues the slow torture, loosening the muscles.

Harry can’t stop his hips from churning, easing back, wanting that finger to slip inside…

The hand on his hip tightens, Zayn’s voice is firm. “My pace.”

Harry growls. “Just do it already.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“I want it to feel good.”

“It will.”

That finger presses, and Harry moans.

“Do you have to answer every question?” Zayn asks.

Harry is having a hard time thinking now, because that finger is slipping inside, up to the first knuckle, and it’s been a long time, a really long time….

“Not so mouthy now, are you, baby?”

Zayn is talking, calling him baby. Harry is supposed to ignore the clenching of his heart and talk back, right? He licks his lips, but no sound comes out, nothing, because that finger is moving agonizingly slow inside. Harry has always thought he likes fast and hard and rough, but the sure hand on his hip and the slow torture of Zayn’s finger is call he can focus on, all he can think about.

Harry is consumed with it.

There is more pressure, and he thinks there is another finger now. A voice cries out and Harry realizes it’s his as that hand caresses his back and arse and thighs. “Fuck fuck fuck,” a voice chants, and who would have thought? Because that is Harry’s voice. This is him, slowly being driven out of his mind by Zayn.

“You’re so tight, Harry,” Zayn mutters. “Wish we were in a bed.”

Harry struggles to breathe, let alone talk. “We are not going to make it to the bed, Zayn.”

“Oh, so we’re kitchen fuckers?”

“No, we’re forget-the-bed, gotta-have-you-now fuckers.”

Zayn doesn’t answer for a while, and those fingers keep up the delicious torture. “Yeah, we’re definitely that.”

“Now fuck me,” Harry says, around a moan.

Those fingers are gone then, and something much bigger is pressing against him. Harry curls his fingers into fists. He prefers to bottom, but its been a long time since he’s been with a man.

A hand strokes his back. “Breathe, baby.”

“Trying,” Harry answers on a grunt as the head of Zayn’s cock slips past the first ring of muscle.

Harry turns his head and bites his fist, squeezing his eyes shut as Zayn continues to press forward. The hands on Harry’s hip and back are shaking a little, so Harry knows he isn’t the only one being affected by this.

Zayn’s breathing is coming fast now, Harry can feel it on the sweat-slicked skin on the back of his neck. And then Harry’s body gives way to the intrusion and Zayn sinks in to the hilt.

Zayn’s breath stutters. Harry releases his breath in a gush. The harness inside him pulses.

Zayn’s voice is low. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Harry answers through clenched teeth.

Zayn takes his time, pulling back and pushing iin, again and again. Each time, the head of his cock rubs along Harry’s prostrate, but it isn’t enough, he needs harder, more, and he is just about to ask for it, demand it, when Zayn rears back one last time and then surges into Harry so hard, his head clunks against the wall.

But Zayn isn’t stopping now. He plunges into Harry’s body again and again. And yes, this is what he wants, this thrusting, this claiming. Fuck, he had forgotten the passion between them. This crazy unnerving passion.

Zayn’s hand leaves his hip and curls around Harry’s dick, then begins to stroke. “I missed you so bad, Haz.”

“Fuck, Zayn, I’m close.”

Zayn’s lips are at Harry’s ear, sucking on the rim, biting the shell, pressing hot, wet kisses on his neck. “Me too. You feel so good.”

Harry tries to swallow, but his throat is dry. He makes a strangled sound and then with one last flick of Zayn’s wrist, Harry is coming, coming, and he may have cried out, he isn’t sure, because Zayn has fucked him through it, and when Harry whimpers at the harsh grip on his spent dick, Zayn is coming too, releasing himself into the condom inside Harry.

And then there is silence. Except for heavy breathing and the rustled fabric of their clothes as they shift to get more comfortable.

Harry exhales as Zayn slips from his body, and he stays slumped against the wall, his forehead resting on his feet to the sound of Zayn getting dressed. But Harry can’t move and so, he is just going to lean here. For a while. With his pants down.

But Zayn has other ideas. Harry’s pants are pulled up, and then he is gently turned. He stares at the top of Zayn’s bent head as he pulls up the zipper of his trousers, redressing Harry in a way he normally would have hated, but now he just feels…. taken care of.

Zayn lifts his head, meeting Harry’s gaze, and they stare at each other for a moment. Harry reaches out and brushes back a strand of hair from Zayn’s eyes. He doesn’t talk. Because he doesn’t know what to say.

Zayn’s tongue darts out, like a nervous habit harry clearly remembers. He leans in, hesitates, and then presses a kiss to Harry’s lips. When he speaks again, his voice is uncertain. “You want me to get you something to eat?”

Harry is fucking starving, but he can’t stay. He needs time away to gather himself and glue back together all the little bits and pieces of himself that Zayn seems to shatter every time Harry sees him. he shakes his head and lies, “Nah, I got plans.”

Zayn blinks, a flash of disappointment over his face. And then he steps back, that guard flying back up in an instant, so quick, Harry swears he hears a clang. Zayn’s body tenses, and Harry misses the content Zayn as soon as he is gone. Zayn nods stiffly. “Right. That’s not us, is it?”

Harry opens his mouth, because shit, he’s fucked up again.

Zayn walks several steps away. “You can see yourself out, I guess.”

When he walks away, Harry doesn’t call him back. Because frankly, for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to say.


	10. Chapter 10

Flashback –

 _The loud_ thump thump thump _of the dance music vibrates through Harry’s chest, making it difficult to hear the conversations around him. Smelling of expensive alcohol, the club is dark, the flash of strobe lights bright against the leather furniture. Liam and Niall are entranced by the lithe women working the pole onstage. They did a show in Vegas the previous day and decided to stay up to enjoy the sights of Vegas, because it’s the first time that Paul, their tour manager, has deemed it “alright” to visit a strip joint. So, they’ve all come to a strip club, minus Louis, who’s been to Vegas before with his old mates._

_Zayn is sat across from Harry and, while the older boy looks outwardly composed, Harry knows he is secretly stewing. And frankly, it pisses Harry the hell off._

_Since Zayn had kissed him a year back, out of nowhere when he’d been drunk out of his mind, Harry had finally worked up the courage to kiss Zayn after their show yesterday, only to be shoved back and told he’d done the deed because he was compromised from the adrenaline high from the show. Blamed on the effects of a couple of beers._

_As if Harry doesn’t know his own friggin’ mind._

_As he didn’t feel every brush of their bodies with a painful clarity, even on stage when they play it up for the fans._

_He was fully aware of his actions yesterday. Is stone-cold sober now and will do it again in a heartbeat just to find out how it feels when Zayn would kiss him back. Harry really wants – no,_ needs _– to know._

_“How the hell do they do that?” Liam says over the music._

_The stripper is hanging upside down by the hook of one leg, the other pointed as gracefully as a ballet dancer’s as she swings around the pole._

_Niall shrugs and reaches for his beer._

_“They should, like, turn this into an Olympic event,” Liam continues._

_Niall lifts his bottle in acknowledgement. “I’d sponsor that.”_

_In fitted jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt, Zayn is slouched in the lounge seat. His posture is easy, his ankle resting on his knee. But the total lack of expression on his face gives him away._

_“Are you going to do the stony-stare thing all night?” Harry asks._

_“Maybe,” Zayn says, reaching for his glass._

_In the years that Harry has known him, Zayn rarely drinks, he prefers smoking. And now Zayn is tossing back his fourth for the day. Zayn grimaces, as if he doesn’t like the taste._

_“What’s that look for?” Harry asks._

_He really should not enjoy teasing Zayn so much, but Harry is dying for a real reaction. Disappointment in Harry? Overt anger? Lust? Something,_ anything _is preferable to the nothing he is getting now._

_“Having trouble handling your alcohol?” Harry grins._

_The bitch face he gets for his efforts makes Harry laugh._

_“Dude, your face is gonna get stuck that way,” Harry says lightly. “And then you’ll spend the rest of your life scaring away the fans, small children and puppies.”_

_Zayn continues to stare at him, the impassive expression returning to his face._

_“You’re missing out on a good time,” Harry adds._

_“And what if I am?” Zayn says._

_Harry goes for the shock value. “No skin off my nose if you want to act like a twat.”_

_Their gazes lock as the pounding music dies a bit, the lights hitting Zayn full on. Harry takes note of Zayn’s flushed face, the emotion brimming just beneath the surface, and the grim set to his mouth. He is sending Harry that look again, like he is all Mr. Control…but secretly wants to strangle Harry in his sleep._

_The thought of Zayn’s hand on his skin sends a shiver up his back, prickling the hair at his neck._

Man, this is friggin’ ridiculous.

_“How about a lap dance, handsome?” A redheaded dancer lays a hand on Zayn’s shoulder._

_Harry barks out a laugh at the stripper dressed like a slutty nurse. But Zayn, too-serious-for-his-own-good Zayn, fails to find the situation amusing._

_And all that maddening restraint — not to mention Zayn’s complete lack of response to his kiss, goddammit — makes Harry want to needle him harder than usual. Want to do things he’s never done before._

_“Don’t waste your time,” Harry says to the woman as he clutches his bottle of beer, eyes still boring into Zayn’s. “He doesn’t even want to be here.”_

_Zayn tips his head, his lips tightening a fraction more, until Harry thinks his jaw might snap in two._

_Without budging his gaze from Harry’s, Zayn addresses the dancer. “How much for a private lap dance?”_

_Harry chokes on his drink and narrows his lids at his mate. The poor redhead glances between the two of them as if trying to read the situation._

_She’ll have to be deaf, dumb, blind, and hopeless at braille to miss the tension._

_“Two hundred and fifty for thirty minutes,” she finally says. “Plus tip.”_

_Zayn reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet._

_“What the hell are you doing?” Harry says._

_“What’s it look like?” Zayn says. Pulling out five one-hundred-dollar bills, Zayn nods in Harry’s direction. “For my friend here,” he says with the barest hint of a smirk, handing the money to the redhead. “It’s his first time in a joint like this. Go easy on him, he may not know what is happening.”_

_The emphasis is clearly for Harry’s benefit. And if looks could kill, Harry would be dead and cremated, his ashes lining the bottom of a vacuum cleaner hours ago._

_“Plus, a hefty tip if you make it special,” Zayn goes on._

_“There’s no touching allowed, but I can definitely make it special,” the redhead murmurs, tugging on Harry’s arm._

_For a moment Harry doesn’t budge, just meets Zayn’s smug_ got you _gaze, obviously daring Harry to go. But Zayn should have known better than to hurl the gauntlet in his direction. Harry never backs down from a challenge._

_Even when it isn’t in his own best interest._

_He lets the lady pull him up from his seat, staring at Zayn. But before she can lead him away, Harry reaches down and hauls Zayn up beside him, who stumbles to his feet._

_Zayn blinks at him in confusion. “What are you doing?”_

_“You’re coming with.”_

_The stony look returns with a vengeance. “No, I’m not.”_

_“This was your idea, and if I have to go, then so do you.” Harry has no interest in a lap dance. Has no desire to have a stranger, no matter how beautiful, shake her arse in his face. The only reason he is playing along is to make Zayn pay for his stupidity. Both yesterday’s and today’s._

_Yep, Zayn Malik will think long and hard before forking over big money to piss off Harry again._

_Zayn opens his mouth for another protest. “I’m not —”_

_“Yes, you are,” Harry says, cocking his head._

_He sends Zayn his best killer smile and leads him away, following the stripper across the room._

_Zayn’s head swims as he props himself against the dark panelling, wondering how he’s fallen so far as to wind up in the VIP room of a strip club with his bandmate and a stripper._

_“What kind of music would you like?” the redhead asks Harry._

_“Whatever you want is fine.” Harry settles easily into a seat as if what is about to take place is no big deal._

_But Zayn has about a million things he’d rather do than watch a woman strip and flaunt herself in front of Harry. On the way to the private room, Harry had lobbed him a wicked smile that had almost buckled Zayn’s knees._

_From the corner, the dancer flips on some music, Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain, which happens to be one of Zayn’s favourite songs. She pours a drink into a tumbler and then drags a second chair over, arranging it to face Harry. Zayn assumes she is planning to use the furniture as a prop. Until she crosses over to Zayn, shoves the drink in his hand, and pulls him toward the center of the room._

_Frowning, Zayn tries to protest. “I’m not interested in watching.”_

_“Take it easy. It’s not an examination,” she says, gently pushing him into the empty seat. She hikes a brow, first at Harry and then back at Zayn. “You and your friend…” She pauses, as if searching for clues in the expressions on their faces. “Or is he more like a boyfriend?”_

_Well, that is the elephant sucking up all the oxygen in the room, now isn’t it?_

_“Fiancé?” she tries again. When Zayn simply glares at Harry, and Harry meets his gaze with unflinching stubbornness, she goes on. “Whatever. You two clearly need an intermediary.”_

_Harry finally turns his attention to her, surprised. “What? You moonlight as a therapist or something?”_

_The redhead smiles. “I’m just a student majoring in psychology and working my way through school.”_

_Harry lets out a bark of laughter, clearly amused by the turn of events. “Mate,” he says, his eyes dancing with delight as he looks at Zayn. “You just bought yourself an intervention.”_

_And since he’s doubled her fee up-front, the woman obviously isn’t worried about a tip._

_“My name’s Brandy. Any requests?” she asks Harry._

_“No need for a lap dance,” Harry says._

_She shrugs. “It’s your dime.”_

_Harry hikes a thumb at Zayn, clearly pleased with himself. “Actually, it’s his dime.”_

_The next five minutes are the most uncomfortable of Zayn’s life. Redheaded Brandy of the silicone-filled breasts and thighs of steel slowly unzips a dress that doesn’t resemble anything a self-respecting nurse would be caught dead wearing. Zayn mostly watches Harry, who unfortunately seems oblivious to the beautiful woman now dressed in nothing but a thong and a push-up bra. The younger man’s eyes remain firmly fixed on Zayn’s._

_As if daring him to look away._

_As if daring him to…_ something _._

_Brandy halts mid-dance and drops her hands from her back, leaving the bra intact as the music thumps on. “I’m feeling a little unnecessary here, boys.”_

_“Nothing personal,” Harry says. “I’m just sorry my friend here isn’t enjoying the show.”_

_The glimmer of defiant humour in his eyes twists the knot of irritated nerves coiling in Zayn’s stomach._

_“I think I can help with that,” Brandy murmurs._

_Clearly one to go with the flow, the dancer rounds Harry’s chair and leans over him from behind. She reaches around to the front of Harry’s shirt, hands hovering._

_“May I?” she asks._

_With his most wicked expression yet, Harry says, “By all means, help yourself.”_

_When she pops the button at his throat, sweat breaks out on the back of Zayn’s neck._

Holy shit, this isn’t happening.

_This is not how he’s envisioned this event would go. He’s purchased the lap dance in order to send Harry away and finally escape the green gaze that is slowly killing him._

_The scrutiny is intense. The dancer’s eyes are on Zayn, but it is the expression on Harry’s face, the amused quirk of his eyebrow as he watches Zayn watch the process, that leaves him longing to squirm in his seat. Harry finds the whole thing funny._

_But Zayn refuses to flinch first._

_“Now who’s the one being a twat?” Zayn says evenly._

_“Me,” Harry says with an unapologetic smile. His voice rumbles with humour. “Glad you paid extra to make it special?”_

_Zayn tosses back the Scotch and lowers himself to Harry’s adolescent level by doing something he’d normally never do before in his life, at least not in front of a woman — ever. He flips Harry the bird._

_Harry grins. “I love you too, mate.”_

_Zayn’d purchased the lap dance in an effort to make Harry pay, and there Harry is sat, beaming as if he’d arranged the screwed-up scenario personally. The Scotch burns through Zayn’s body, raising his internal temperature. Or maybe it’s the sight of Harry’s shirt parting as the woman works her way down. True to her word, the dancer doesn’t touch, her cheek close to Harry’s as she carefully slips the buttons free one by one. Until Harry’s pectorals are exposed._

_Brandy moves lower, and more skin is exposed. Nicely formed abs come into view. Harry’s navel finally makes an appearance, and Zayn’s heart goes into overdrive. Then comes the dusting of hair that disappears into the waistband of Harry’s jeans, and Zayn’s limbs grow heavy, straining under the weight of all the nerves and irritation and lust currently tracking through his veins._

_“Now what’s the deal between you two?” Brandy asks, in a way Zayn presumes a couple’s therapist might question._

_“The trouble started yesterday when I kissed Zayn,” Harry says, nodding in his direction._

_Her brow crinkles in surprise. “And when is a kiss a problem?”_

_Harry goes on with a mock-soulful look, as if his heart has been broken. “I was so upset when he wouldn’t kiss me back.”_

Son of a…

_Zayn can’t help it. He lets out a loud, indignant huff._

_Brandy purses her lips and rounds Harry’s chair, coming to a stop between them, annoying Zayn by blocking the visual daggers he is currently hurling at Harry. She reaches down and grips the edges of Harry’s shirt, pulling him to his feet. The surprise on his face makes Zayn laugh, until she drags Harry over and gently pushes him onto his lap._

_“Time to kiss and make up, boys.”_

_Dumbfounded, Zayn looks up at Harry, hoping his mouth isn’t hanging open like his jaw is broken, fingers tight around his empty tumbler. Harry looks pleasantly surprised and totally on board with Brandy’s plan, that cocky grin reappearing as he twists to straddle Zayn’s legs._

_Brandy looks as if she’s just negotiated a lasting world peace._

_Despite the pleasure paralyzing his muscles, Zayn raises his free hand to Harry’s chest and tries to sit up, intent on pushing him off. But Brandy is now positioned behind Zayn, and she lightly presses her hands to his shoulders, keeping him in the chair._

_Her breath at his ear, she says, “Why don’t you cut your friend here some slack?”_

_For some reason, the spark of amusement in Harry’s eyes is instantly doused, replaced by a gaze dark enough to blot out the sun. “Jesus, Zayn,” Harry says. It’s the first time Zayn has ever seen the younger lad ruffled. “I just want to know…”_

_Harry swallows hard, and Harry follows the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple beneath clear skin. God, he’s always been obsessed with that smooth neck._

_Zayn slams his lids shut. “Damn it, Haz,” he growls, giving in to the need torturing him since yesterday. “Do it already.”_

_Zayn expects a crash landing of their mouths. Because that’s Harry’s MO. He barrels his way through life. No regrets. No second-guessing himself. Leap first, set the broken bones later._

_Instead, Harry slots his mouth against Zayn’s, fitting his lower lip into the dip beneath Zayn’s as if they are two pieces to a puzzle. As if relearning the texture. Cautiously testing his welcome. Several seconds pass as Zayn adjusts to the feel of Harry’s hard thighs around his hips, that amazing mouth shifting above his._

_Though the intent behind the kiss slowly grows, Zayn resists. Until Harry groans and grips Zayn’s hair, forcing his head back and his mouth open, and Zayn can’t fake his ambivalence anymore. The moment Harry begins to fuck Zayn’s mouth with his tongue, Zayn moans, the glass hits the floor and rolls noisily across the wood, leaving the smell of Scotch in the air._

_The kiss goes from curiously exploratory to wet, hot, and filthy in an instant, rendering Zayn powerless. His body celebrates with a silent yes when Harry pushes Brandy’s hands from Zayn’s shoulders before tunnelling his fingers under Zayn’s shirt. Taking possession. Harry splays his hands across Zayn’s ribs as if to help keep the thundering heart beneath from bursting._

_Zayn clutches Harry’s waist as Harry slides his fingers higher up Zayn’s chest, mouth hot on his. Zayn finally becomes aware of the rutting of Harry’s hips against his own._

_And there is no way Zayn can resist the action. His cock nearly howls with relief when he begins to rock his hips in time with Harry’s, seeking friction. Seeking heat. Seeking relief._

_Pulling his head back, Zayn dumbly stares up at Harry’s flushed face._

_Green eyes locked on his, Harry says, “Brandy, give us a minute alone, please.”_

_Neither one of them watch to see if Brandy complies._

_Harry’s hands fall to the front of Zayn’s pants. Harry’s heated, dark gaze focus on the task as the sound of snaps and zippers and shuffling clothes fill the air. Harry reaches into Zayn’s boxers and—_

_“Haz,” Zayn hisses, the feel of Harry’s hand on his dick almost too much._

_Harry shifts his hips until their cocks line up, hard flesh pressed against hard flesh. The whimper that escapes Zayn’s throat is louder than it should have been. He reaches up to press his palm between Harry’s shoulder blades, his free hand twisting in the edge of the unbuttoned shirt and hauling Harry down for a kiss. Arching into him until their sweat-slicked cocks slip against each other, and the last of Zayn’s brain functions shut down._

_He closes up the running commentary in his head telling him this is a bad idea. That, somewhere, Brandy might still be in the room. That he doesn’t want to be part of some sexual experiment on Harry’s growing to-do list._

_Zayn gives himself over to the sensation, riding the waves of pleasure with a greediness that could only be described as undignified. Their mouths never break contact as Zayn and Harry buck in unison. Zayn’s orgasm gains momentum, closing in from behind at a rate that is shocking, and he slips his hands down the back of Harry’s jeans, gripping his ass to better coordinate their movements. He digs his fingers into the hard muscle. The speed of their hips doesn’t change, but the intensity of the thrusts grow more forceful. More powerful. An almost angry desperation to the act._

_Along the way Harry seems to lose control over his mouth, unable to coordinate a kiss. Instead, his lips simply part against Zayn’s, and damp, panting breaths fill the non-existent space between their mouths. Until Harry arches his neck, exposing all that smooth skin…and Zayn falls on Harry’s throat as if he is starving._

_Mapping the contour with his lips. Tracing the underside of the jaw with his tongue. When Zayn scrapes his teeth across the bounding pulse, Harry calls out his name with a hoarse groan, hot streaks of cum striping Zayn’s trunk._

_The feel of Harry shooting his load across his skin punches the orgasm from Zayn’s body. Forcing the air from his lungs. Wrenching the blood from his veins. As the painful pleasure pounds through Zayn and slowly eases, Harry sags against him. Zayn closes his eyes, loosely holding on to Harry’s hips as he drifts down from the high that might just prove to be his undoing._

_Several minutes must have passed before they shift and Harry stands. Brandy is missing from the room, but a box of tissues is sitting on a nearby table. Feeling hot and flushed and all kinds of awkward, Zayn cleans himself up and adjusts his clothes. Harry looks deep in thought as he does the same, zipping his jeans and tucking in his shirt. And Zayn wonders how they are going to get beyond this twisted turn in their friendship._

_At some point in the last twenty-four hours, Zayn has decided with absolute certainty that the VIP room of a strip club, a nearly naked wannabe counselor, and Harry’s cum on Zayn’s stomach had been as awkward as the four-day weekend could possibly get._

_He was wrong._

_“I’m sorry I missed your private lap dance last night, Harry,” Niall whispers._

_Zayn sucks in a silent breath. They are all waiting to board their flight to LA from Vegas._

_Harry is stood to his right, and to his left is Louis, with Liam and Niall lining up just beyond. Zayn keeps his eyes on the discussion happening a few feet away. Apparently, there is some mix-up about their flight timing. Zayn is really beginning to hate his life._

_“Harry?” Louis leans forward to shoot Harry a grin. “You got the VIP treatment, eh? Nice.”_

_Harry shoots Zayn a look before laying a hand on his shoulder, leaning forward to address Louis. “Zayn paid for it.”_

_And Zayn is_ still _paying for it._

_A gorgeous sunset has painted the sky while a cool breeze provided relief from the lingering heat, but Zayn is painfully aware of the warmth of Harry’s fingers on his shoulder. Despite everything, Harry feels no inclination to give him a little space. Is as free with the one-armed hugs and the pats on the back as ever._

_“You bought Harry a lap dance?” Louis asks, sending Zayn an approving look. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”_

_“Not only did he pay for it,” Liam says, “he got to watch.”_

_Zayn fights the urge to close his eyes, the slow, oncoming train wreck of a discussion happening right before his eyes. There isn’t a thing he could do about it except pray that the airport staff would allow them to finally board their fucking plane and get the hell out of this cursed city._

_“Zayn, you sly dog, you,” Louis says. "I can’t believe you watched Harry with a stripper.” Louis whispers loudly to Liam and Niall, “The quiet ones are always the kinkiest.”_

_Heat creeps up Zayn’s back, but he keeps his face as bland as ever. “Harry was the one who wanted me to watch.”_

_Given the strained pause that follows, perhaps his words hasn’t eased the awkwardness like he’s hoped._

_Louis winces. “I don’t even want to know what the hell that was about.”_

_“Just tryin’ to keep everything aboveboard was all,” Harry says._

_Louis leans closer to Zayn. “How much?”_

_Zayn shoots him a questioning look._

_“How much did you pay?” Louis goes on._

_Zayn doesn’t bother trying to suppress the sigh. “Five hundred. And Harry matched that amount with his tip.”_

_Louis coughs, as if managing the saliva in his mouth is suddenly an overwhelming task._

_Harry huffs out an amused breath. “Zayn told her to make it special.”_

_Four sets of eyes are suddenly trained on Zayn._

_Ignoring the bead of sweat forming at the base of his neck, Zayn tries not to look as uncomfortable as he feels. But Harry? Damn him, Harry finds the situation amusing. His mouth twitches in humour, and Zayn stares at Harry’s attractive neck, briefly wondering how much force it would take to cut off his air until he can’t speak._

_A mute Harry would be a definite advantage._

_“Special, huh?” Louis studies Zayn closely. “Zayn Malik,” he says slowly, curiosity and questions and accusations filling the spaces between the syllables. “Was it everything you’d hoped it would be?”_

_The sarcastic spurt of laughter from Zayn almost hurts. “No.”_

_“Did she do a twofer?” Louis asks. When Zayn stares at him blankly, Louis clarifies. “Did she give you both lap dances?”_

_“No.”_

_“But she got paid a thousand dollars.” Clearly distressed that the two had overpaid, Louis goes on. “At least tell me there was some touching involved.”_

_This time it’s Harry who has trouble keeping his airway clear, coughing like he is choking. Eyes burning, Zayn fights the urge to blink._

_“Nope. No touching,” Harry says when he’s finally recovered. “The lady was careful to keep her hands to herself.”_

_There must have been something in Harry’s tone, or the cautious wording of his response, or the way he almost hacks up a lung, that tips Louis off. Because while Liam and Niall go to sit down, clearly too hungover to continue standing, Louis’ gaze instantly sharpens on Harry and then on Zayn._

Fucking hell, when is this flight going to take off?

_“Huh,” Louis says with more than a little suspicion in his eyes. “Sounds like you guys were robbed blind, mate.”_

_“Trust me, Lou,” Harry says. “It was worth every penny.”_

_Zayn shifts, angling his body better to send Harry a private what the hell? look. Because as bad as Liam and Niall are feeling, the subtext is flying right over their heads. But Louis? Louis is looking at Harry and Zayn as if there is more to the story and he is on to them._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update.

Zayn is not sure why he thinks of visiting his father when he drives to Bradford. He’d rather be anywhere else. Hell, driving Safaa and her friends to the freaking mall feels like a better idea than this and that includes a high-pitched debate on the advantages of waxing over shaving.

“I guess you can just set it on the table over there,” Yaser Malik groused. “Don’t know why you brought it.”

Zayn’s fingers tighten briefly on Givenchy shoes he’s brought for his father. “They’re shoes, baba.”

“Heard from Perrie lately?” his father asks, pushing himself out of his recliner. At fifty, he was still handsome.

While growing up, he’d always looked up to his father. Sure, he’d been strict. Sure, he’d treated his children like they were in the military. But Zayn had wanted to be like his father. All that had changed the minute his father had started insulting his way of life and all his choices, be it singing or what relationships he preferred.

Zayn pushes his fingers into his eyes, wondering why he has bothered visiting Bradford at all. He could easily have called his mother and sisters to London. “No, I haven’t heard from my ex-girlfriend, baba. I haven’t heard from her since we broke up three years ago.”

But thanks for bringing it up.

Although that isn’t even fair. Hearing Perrie Edward’s name doesn’t even cause so much as a pang. The shitty part of it is, not only does his dad know very well that his thing with Perrie had been exclusively for publicity, but he also knows that Perrie has spoken Zayn horribly in the press about their break-up. And that doesn’t seem to bother his father.

Yaser sniffs. “I told you it was a bad idea to start up things with her when you knew things were not….”

Zayn flops back onto the couch. “Let’s have it, baba. Just get it aaalllll out now. I’m listening.”

Yaser angrily twists the cap off a bottle of water. “And you don’t even visit anymore. I don’t know what’s the matter with you, boy.”

“Because you seem so happy I’m here.”

Yaser returns to his recliner and studies Zayn, and not for the first time Zayn wonders why Yaser dislikes his only son so much. Maybe his father’s dislike of his was Zayn’s own failing. But on days like today, he just can’t seem to care.

“So, you seeing Gigi Hadid now?”

Zayn sits up with a sigh, reaching out to fiddle with the remote on the coffee table. Small talk. He can do this. “I was. Didn’t work out.”

“How come?”

“Just didn’t work out,” Zayn snaps.

“Why?”

Really?

“I bet this Gigi figured it out.”

Don’t bring up Harry. Don’t bring up Harry.

“Figured out what?” Zayn asks tersely.

“That you’re hung up on Harry Styles’ arse. That boy was always your downfall. He has ruined himself and he will ruin you.”

Zayn freezes even though he was ready for it. His father knows his one weak spot and never ever fails to exploit it. Zayn’s fingers clench hard on the TV remote he’s been fiddling with. “Don’t. Don’t you dare, dad.”

His father sniffs. “Have you seen the things he says at his shows? Trash. Complete utter trash, Zayn. I would still be okay if he was homosexual, but good god, he will screw anything that can walk. He is a womanizer.”

Zayn sees red. “Harry could be the biggest name in porn, and I still wouldn’t let you talk about him that way.”

Yaser gives a smirk. “Like I said. Hung up on him.”

Zayn is on his feet and across the room in a second, pulling on his jacket. “I have told you before and I am telling you now. I won’t discuss Harry with you.”

“He made you leave the band.”

“He didn’t make me do anything! It was my decision.”

Yaser scoffs. “Look at him now, you stupid boy. He’s twice the star you can ever be. And you let him do this to you.”

“None of this is Harry’s fault, dad. Stop saying these things about him.”

“Right, right. I always forget that I am not fit to breathe his name.”

Zayn pauses only briefly. “You know, baba, for once I think we agree on something.”

He lets the door slam behind him.

 

With the smell of coffee teasing his taste buds, Harry tries to figure out the name of the song blasting from Louis’ house. Just as it comes to him—“Tusk,” by Fleetwood Mac—the door flies open.

“Oh, it’s you.”  Louis crosses his arms and takes on an aggressive stance. “To what do I owe, etcetera?”

“Why, yes, I’d love a cup of coffee, Louis.”

This past week had been the worst seven days for Harry. When he had freaked out and literally left Zayn before he even put his pants on, he hadn’t realized that Zayn would take it to heart. He’s called more times than he can count, but Zayn hasn’t answered his calls. When all else failed, he decided to visit Louis. Harry figures if anyone knows what’s happening with Zayn, it will be Louis.

Apparently recognizing that Harry is not in a bullshit-taking mood, Louis draws back the door and heads toward the coffeemaker. He grabs a cup and pours. “Cream? Sugar? Arsenic?”

“Black, please, hold the poison.”

The mug he gives Harry has a picture of Lionel Richie on it and the slogan: Hello! Is It Tea You’re Looking For? Only Louis.

Harry takes a seat at the table in the cozy kitchen. Music still blares from the other room, but asking Louis to lower it would probably set him off. Harry needs him pliable.

He starts with, “How’s Zayn doing?”

Louis’ answer is an undignified snort that reflects Harry’s opinion of himself right now. When nothing more is forthcoming, he presses on.

“He’s not answering my calls or texts. He’s mad at me and I figure you’re his best friend, so I can pump you for information. Also, you’re too nosy and self-righteous not to want to interfere and give it up.”

Louis picks at a fleck of red paint on the table. “He’ll be fine.” But the way he said it sends a burst of foreboding through Harry.

“Louis . . .”

“He’s terrible!” Louis spits out. “But don’t think it has anything to do with you, stallion. He’s got more going on than your fickleness.”

“What does that mean?”

“Like you care.”

Harry looms over Louis and refuses to feel guilty about it because Louis Tomlinson could probably kick his ass six ways from Sunday.

“What’s happened?” If not me, what?

“He saw his dad. And it went about as well as could be expected.”

Harry rubs the bridge of his nose. Fuck.

“It wasn’t because of you,” Louis says quickly. “You know how bad the tension is between him and his dad. I’d punch the man for the things that sometimes come out of his mouth. And Zayn doesn’t deserve any of it. And apparently, he took a dig at you as well.”

Louis’ voice shakes with fury, and Harry has never been more grateful that this man was Zayn’s best friend.

Louis pulls his knee up on her chair and wraps his arms around it. “Zayn obviously wouldn’t hear a word of it. He thinks only he has the right to talk shit about you.”

“When did this happen?”

“A couple of days ago, he went to Bradford.”

Harry shoots upright. “He went to Bradford alone? To see his father? When was the last time he’s been there on his own?”

Louis throws up his hands. “That’s what I said! I mean, I was here free the entire weekend. He could have taken me along. They’ve always needed a buffer between them.”

They both bask in this brief moment of consensus before Harry flourishes a hand, encouraging him to continue.

“Zayn said he wanted to do it this way so both of them would have an real talk, and look where it got him they were left to stare at each other in the family living room.”

“So Yaser apparently said—you’re the reason Zayn’s the way his now—you know, not touring, barely going out. Yaser said—” He shook his head.

“He said what, Louis?”

Louis looks up, his mouth in a sneer. “He said you’re twice the star Zayn could ever be.”

Harry squeezes his hand around the Lionel Richie mug so hard there is a chance he might crush it to porcelain fragments. What an incredibly cruel thing to say to one’s own son.

“That’s . . .” Harry can’t even finish.

Louis nods. “I know. Not cool.”

“I wish he’d talk to me.”

Louis’ eyes go wide. “Do you blame him? You fucked up, Harry. You walked out on him like none of it mattered.”

Shame creeps over Harry, but he digs deep to justify his poor behavior. He’s worked too hard and come too far to allow a little lust to fuck it all up now. Seeing that look of hurt on Zayn’s face a week ago had practically killed him, but better a sharp blow now than a bellyache of pain later.

How does it feel to have your own advice shoved in your face, Styles? Why, awesome!

“He doesn’t want me. Not really. He only thinks he does.”

“Whatever. I’m surrounded by people who are in denial about their needs. Liam figured it out, thank God, but Niall? That lad’s headed for a crash.”

Louis shakes his head. Harry feels like he has been transported back to the old times when he would always crib about the boys’ poor decision making skills.

“What’s that for?”

“What’s what for?”

“What you did there. Like you’re drawing conclusions but you’re too smug to share with the class.”

“Do I really need to spell it out?” Louis sighs dramatically. “You actually think that it’s ever been about only a fuck for Zayn? Like you were as good as the next guy?”

Basically. But that isn’t all.

“He left me, didn’t he?”

“Zayn has never slept with another person of the male gender other than you. Not before One Direction and not after. And he’s never going to want to.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions, Louis.”

“Am I? Why the hell are you here?”

_Because I screwed up. Because you’re my best connection to this man I have idiotically fallen in love with again. Because my heart aches without him._

“Like I said, just checking in on Zayn because we can’t seem to communicate.”

Louis pauses, then asks, “And what about you? Does it matter to you or are you all peachy, Mr. Rockstar Harry Styles?”

No. But that isn’t why he is here. He doesn’t need to be soothed, he just needs to ensure that Zayn is okay.

“How do I fix this, Louis?”

Louis stands, all five feet nine inches of badass attitude, and returns that threatening stance Harry had pulled on him earlier.

“Assure him he’s not alone.”

 

 

 

Zayn has no idea what he is doing.

Ostensibly, he is watching a football game in his living room, but really he is watching Harry Styles watching a football game in his living room. Every time anyone came close to scoring, the idiot shot to his feet. If it was an offensive play from Real Madrid, he’d look at Zayn and say, “But that used to be your team, Zayn!”

Of course, he’s the same when Barcelona got into the attacking zone. He is just excited about football, and that excites Zayn. Zayn could watch Harry all day, all night, maybe all his days and all his—quit it. He can’t get into this again.

Ever since he’d come back to London after the disastrous talk with his father, Zayn had been in a horrible mood. But then Harry turns up at his doorstep, walks in like he fucking owns the place. The fucker isn’t even sorry about the previous night when he fucked and left, but sits down on the couch, lifts the remote and switches to football from the cooking show Zayn had been watching.

Zayn is mad at him, sure. But he doesn’t even know why Harry is there. Not until Harry asks Zayn if he had something to eat.

So maybe Harry is in this for the food.

The first break comes, the score still a goal-less draw. Harry now gives Zayn his entire focus, flipping his gaze over his body with something like disapproval.

“What?” Zayn looks down at his tee and jeans.

“I was just thinking that you’re sitting in that armchair and I’d prefer if you were on the sofa. With me.”

Zayn’s stupid heart skips a beat. Harry has this look on his face, like the idea of not being able to touch Zayn is his personal hell.

“How long do you think we’ll be able to watch this game if we’re within touching distance?”

Harry pats the cushion beside him. “Let’s give it a shot, shall we?”

By the time the next period starts, Zayn can’t focus on a single play. Harry can’t seem to relax, either, slipping sly looks his way, twitching his mouth like he is building up to saying something.

“You’re thinking awfully loud over there, Styles.”

“So no one at New York is gay?”

“Not that I know of.”

He considers this. “But somewhere else?”

“Do you think I’m running a Gay Confessions club? Curious, questioning, confused? Let me touch your guitar-playing dick and make a determination.”

Harry smiles at Zayn’s disgruntled expression. “I think if anyone’s gonna know, it’s you.”

“Why? Does my face have it written somewhere? Bless me, Zayn, for I like dick?”

“Well, because you are annoyingly attractive.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment but I don’t go around shaking my arse at men’s faces like you do, Harry. I don’t make it obvious and I don’t like attention all over me unlike you who wouldn’t mind having five pairs of hands on your dick all at the same time.”

Harry gives another smile like Zayn’s words don’t affect him, but this one trembles around the edges of his mouth.

Shit. Zayn reaches for him, cupping his jaw when he tried to turn away. “Sorry, I’m being a jerk.” He rubbed a thumb along his lower lip. “I’ve had a shitty day, Harry. I’m not the best company.”

Harry scrunches up his mouth and suddenly it hits Zayn like a puck to his head.

“Who called you and told you I went to Bradford? Was it Louis?”

Harry’s shoulders relax by a degree. “No, actually I was the one who went to see Louis. He said you had some kind of a disagreement with your dad. Well, seeing as how you weren’t answering any of my calls, I thought I’d give knocking on your door a shot.”

Thought he’d give it a shot? Does Harry really think that he still has the ability of cheering Zayn up spontaneously?

“You think you can make me feel better?”

“Isn’t my presence enough? Aren’t you already feeling better?”

Zayn does, and more. But he won’t saw it now.

“Zayn, last week, when we had sex—”

“When we fucked each other’s brains out, you mean.”

With a wave of his hand in fake dismissal, Harry smiles. “Yes, yes, you were amazing.” Harry has this look on his face, like a cute-as-fuck puppy who’s crapped all over the rug and was now giving a who me? tilt of his head. “I didn’t mean to run away like that.”

“Harry . . .”

“I was scared shitless, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Zayn makes a face at Harry. “You’re a fucking arse.”

Harry pounces, pinning him back on the sofa. “Shut it.”

“Harry Styles scared of little Zayn—” Harry tries a kiss to shut him up, but Zayn moves his lips away.

“Stop making fun of my incredibly vulnerable moment, dude!”

But he is laughing as he says it and Zayn guesses he enjoyed the levity after the sofa confessions. A possessive streak floods Zayn’s chest.

“Shit, you talk a good game, Harry. You’ve been coming at me hard, like this is your usual, and yet underneath that cocky exterior is”—he strokes his jaw—“is what exactly?”

“It’s all pretty cocky, Zayn,” Harry says with a wry smile. “Look, it’s never felt the same with anyone else like it does with you, Zayn. You should know that. You should be able to feel that.”

“I don’t want to feel anything for you, Harry.” Zayn kisses him to soothe the little jab, and soon they are lip-locked in a battle for deep and wet and so damn sexy. Before things get out of control, Zayn drew back. “I can’t afford to feel anything for you.”

“Are you freaking out? Look, we don’t have to talk about the meaning and shit of all this. Let it be what it was and baby, it was perfect.”

God, it was. This is.

“You asked if I knew anyone at New York who was gay?”

Harry nods slowly.

“I didn’t. I wasn’t exactly celibate. I was really with Gigi the first year. She’s amazing. The best friend anyone can want. She stood up for me when anyone said anything remotely negative about me. Noone else did. I love her, but it’s not like that. I’ve never done this with another guy after you.”

Harry opens his mouth.

“This isn’t about you, Harry. This is about me. I just didn’t feel it with another man.” He curls his palm around that soft skin at the back of Harry’s neck and touches forehead to forehead. “And I’m not judging you. It’s everyone’s choice. And I am happy with the choice I made.

“What happened with you and Gigi?”

“It just got convenient after a while. You know, having her around. Not having to explain anything. And she pushed me to make up with you lot. She called Niall and invited him for dinner. She was pretty aggressive.”

“Christ, Zayn, and here I was hating on her. Turns out she’s a saint. Kendall kept telling me that Gigi is an angel, I was blinded by jealousy that you two seemed happy with someone who wasn’t me.”

Zayn leans back and rolls his arm along the top of the sofa. “C’mere, Haz.”

Harry levers back, his shoulder notching into a spot below Zayn’s chin. Zayn coasts his lips against Harry’s ear, drawing a pleasurable shiver. So it isn’t only sex, but they can’t go at it like rabbits every second of every day, can they? It seems silly not to touch each other and seek comfort with their clothes on.

Zayn settles his forearm over Harry’s chest. The guy fit exactly right, and Zayn can’t help inhaling the scent of his hair and brushing light lip grazes along the shell of his ear.

“Thought you wanted to watch the game.” Harry’s voice sounds rusty.

“We’re talented people. No reason we can’t do both.”

Harry draws lazy circles on Zayn’s arm and releases a gentle sigh of contentment. Weird how a weighted conversation about the lack of a future can relax them both.

“How long were you with Gigi?”

“Two years, off and on.”

“You broke up with her?”

“We kinda got bored. And she likes somebody else. But that guy was an asshole. So we stayed together for publicity sake.”

Harry turns and looks him square in the eye. “If she hadn’t fallen for this other guy, would you still be together?”

Probably not. He and Gigi didn’t really fit all that well. “I don’t know. We both cared about our careers way more than our relationship. Maybe if we’d felt strongly toward each other, we could have made it work. But we weren’t, so we’ll never know.”

Harry holds Zayn’s gaze, unerringly. What is going on in that sharp mind of his? He looks like he wants to share, but then he changes his mind and turns back to resting against Zayn.

Bullet dodged.

 

 

A week later, Zayn leans against the bar in the ballroom of the Mark, one eye on the well-heeled crowd, the other on the main entrance through which he expects Harry any minute. The label has just released their song which is fast climbing its way to the top of the charts and also decided throw a small fundraiser for the charity they are donating to.

“The bartender’s hot,” Safaa says, nudging him to look at the broad-shouldered specimen behind the bar, who is yes, objectively hot.

Zayn gives his sister the side-eye. “Your matchmaking has never worked, nor will it now. I know how disappointing that must be for you.”

She raises an eyebrow, not buying his contrition. “Waliya and I met this chef at an Italian restaurant in London last week. He would have been so perfect for you, Zaynie.”

“Never would have worked. I can’t stand anyone else in my kitchen.” Except Harry. Harry with his black and green olives and fifty other toppings.

Just. Harry.

Zayn clears his throat. “This past month has been crazy busy anyway.”

“But crazy productive.”

True. Harry seems to have spurted a writing spree from Zayn. He’s not only finished their song, but written and recorded three new ones while in London. Zayn is not ready to give credit to Harry though. Maybe it’s the city and not the man.

As if he’d conjured him from thin air, here comes the man himself with Anne on one arm and Gemma on the other. Game-day suit with tie, broad shoulders filling it out to perfection. Anne spots someone and peels off from them, leaving Harry and Gemma to walk to the bar.

“Zayn!” Gemma hugs him. “Wow, you look hot. No one fills out a suit like you do.”

He laughs, because that’s exactly what he’s been thinking about Harry. His eyes found Harry’s, and they exchange a scorching look before Harry tears his gaze away with, “Excuse me, gotta use the boys’ room.”

Safaa and Gemma hug and Gemma compliments her on how beautiful she looks, making the younger girl blush. She pulls down her red dress, though it was so short it had no chance of meeting up with her thigh-high boots.

“Okay, I need to talk to mum. They need to update the music.” Gemma charges off.

Before Zayn can comment, Safaa turns to him, her tongue rolling in her cheek.

“What?” asks Zayn.

“If I’d known you were otherwise occupied, I wouldn’t have wasted my time.”

“Excuse me?”

“You and—” She leans in and whispers, “My favourite member of One Direction. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before now.”

She knows nothing. “Whatever are you yammering on about, Safaa?”

She waves in the direction of the restrooms. “I saw how you guys checked each other out.”

“I’m bisexual. Sometimes I can’t help but appreciate a good-looking guy in a suit.”

“Oh, and he was appreciating you right back.” Hs sister shakes her head in wonder. “Makes sense, really. So, are you going to stick with longing glances or wait until Harry has moved to America to make a move?”

He opens his mouth, but apparently something Safaa sees on his face gave him away.

“Wow, I am totally late to this party.”

“There’s no party, Safaa. You can get that matchmaker glint out of your eye right now.” Confirming her suspicion will only take things farther than they already are, and while he has no doubt Safaa will be empathetic, this was not something Zayn wants to discuss with his youngest sister.

              

 

           

 

He finds Harry coming out of the restroom, and a jerk of his chin draws him around the corner. Not private enough for anything to happen, but enough for Zayn to feel somewhat cut off from the rest of the gathering. Now that Safaa suspects, he feels cornered; it is probably a good idea to tell Harry they should cool it.

But, fuck, the man is so sexy.

“You look handsome,” Zayn murmurs. “Wait, is that my tie?”

“Yeah, I borrowed it. I figured you have a zillion.”

“It looks good.” He moves in closer. “You look good.” Then a burst of insanity attacks him, and he takes a chance and kisses him. Just two seconds, which is a bad idea, because now he is desperate for more.

“I hate this,” Harry says.

“No, you don’t.”

Harry scowls, which is cute because it is so rare to see him frosted about anything. “Not this this. This this.”

“I think I know what you’re saying, but it might be best if you said it in English.”

A weighted moment passes, then another. Finally, Harry blurts out, “I’m going to talk to Jeff.”

“Harry . . .” He checked over his shoulder, ensuring they were still alone. “If you’re going to come out, you have to make sure that you do it for the right reasons.”

“Like?”

“Your peace of mind, your journey, because it’s right for you.”

Harry’s brow furrow. “It would be for me. I’m sick of hiding. I’m tired of the lies. I need . . . more.”

Zayn steps back, scratchy panic edging over his skin. He doesn’t want to be Harry’s reason for making the most important decision of his life. A deeply personal decision, and one that Harry should be making without the complication of Zayn.

He chooses his next words carefully. “If that’s what you want.”

Harry cocks his head, bewildered. “If that’s what I want? What the fuck kind of response is that?”

“Like I said, this is something you do for yourself. It doesn’t change anything with you and me.”

Harry checks that there is no one nearby, then leans in close. “If I do this—talk to Jeff, come out to everyone, my team, the press—then I think it changes things, don’t you? I mean I’m not asking you to come out as well, that’s not what I am saying.”

“I know that, Harry. But you and me. . .,” he gestures between the two of them. “You are me are not a permanent thing. We are just fucking because its convenient now. You can’t make a decision based on this.” Because this isn’t love or anything.

Zayn is not in love with Harry. Not even a little.

Okay, maybe a little.

“So I come out and we’re what? Over?”

“Well, it sure as hell isn’t the start of something.”

Harry looks like he’s taken a blow to the head. “Are you seriously saying that I have a better shot with you if I lie about who I am?”

“I’m saying that the two things are not related, Harry. What’s happening between us now is hot, sexy, amazing.” So amazing that if it goes on another second longer Zayn is going to make a fool of himself. “But you know it can’t last. As soon as you’re out, people will start looking for connections—don’t be naïve and say they won’t. There’ll be accusations flying around. Contracts. What not. I can be there for you, Harry. But you know what people will say about us.”

Pure disgust sizzles off Harry. “So if I want to keep you, I stay in the closet?”

“I think we both know that’s not going to keep me.”

Harry takes a step back as if Zayn has punched him. It’s cold, he knows, but it had to be said.

“Good thing I didn’t make a fool of myself,” Harry says. “Like tell you I was falling for you or some dumb shit like that.” His voice cracks ever so slightly, and that small chink breaks something inside Zayn.

He has no idea how he is able to speak his next words. Just line up the nails, Malik, and swing that hammer.

“You’re not falling for me, Harry. You’re in a honeymoon phase where getting some regularly with a guy who knows what you’re going through is tricking your brain into thinking you’re happy. Sex endorphins or whatever.” Bang that nail. “This is not real. You’re going to come out—and I applaud that, I do—but I won’t be waiting on the other side with a bottle of wine and a blow job.” Crack that hammer. “I’ve worked hard for wherever I have reached in my life right now. I’ve put up with a shit-ton of hate and I can’t deal with this now.”

Final. Coffin. Boom.

Harry is shaking his head now, and he leans in so close that Zayn can see flames sparking in his eyes. Not the usual lust, but pure anger. “You can’t deal? What the fuck are you even talking about? We fucked, didn’t we? It was mutual, wasn’t it? We happened. Sure, whitewash it all you want, Zayn, but don’t tell me I’m feeling this in a vacuum.”

His body shakes, his disillusion evident, and Zayn puts a hand on his chest. To soothe. To absorb his emotion.

Harry jumps back, smacking into the wall behind him. Given that reaction, all Zayn can do is step away and offer him space. Zayn lets him go, because he has no answer to Harry’s last accusation.

He balls his hand into a fist and touches the wall where, to Zayn’s fevered mind, Harry has left some sort of imprint.

The man is right. It happened, they happened, and it was the best month of Zayn’s life. That it has lasted beyond a weekend is a shock in itself.

Yet neither of them can claim surprise that it was ending like this, not after the last time they had screwed each other up. They’d gone in with clear goals, low expectations, and hard-as-a-hell dicks. And as Zayn’s breathing slows, he assures himself that this is for the best.

He is going back to New York before he lets himself be in a position where he could potentially get hurt. Because this time it would surely kill him.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

An hour later, Harry finds Zayn at a back stairwell. He’s sat on the stairs, one hand rubbing his forehead, the other one clutching a cigarette. As Harry watches, Zayn runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head.

Harry, just like the fool he is, sits down beside him.

Zayn scrubs a hand across his face, swiping at his sweaty brow. Several tense moments pass before he speaks. “What are you doing here?”

So that confirms it. Zayn hasn’t changed his mind. But this is Zayn and Harry knows how difficult he finds it to express his feelings. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Don’t want to talk more about this stupid shit.”

“Got a PhD in stupid shit.”

Nothing but bruising silence, Zayn’s typical MO of holding on to each word like it is a precious jewel. Harry hauls in a breath. “Do you have a therapist, Zayn?”

“Had one for a couple of months.”

So that means Zayn is still elbow deep in a puddle of shit that has bothered him ever since Harry has known him. Harry is ready to bet his career the stubborn shit is not getting any help now.

He scoots closer to Zayn. “If we talk, maybe we can come to a reasonable adult-like conclusion.

Zayn glowers. “You really think talking would make the last three years okay for me?” He hops up, his hand rubbing his forehead like he can scrub away whatever is wrong with the two of them.

“I’m now a steel-ass, strong-as-shit, built-to-fuck person. You’re not gonna hurt me by anything you say to me.”

“I just did, Harry. An hour ago, in the hallway. Just fucking now! You should have seen your face.”

Harry laughs it off, though he’ll be lying if that doesn’t make him uneasy. “Consider it foreplay.”

Not funny, if the look of Zayn’s face is anything to go by. Now he stands before Harry, strong and mind made up. Gorgeous. Fury at himself radiates off him in waves.

Well, Harry can do pissed as well. “Maybe you should have considered all of that before we fucked in New York. Hell, before you decided to strike up a conversation in that alley.”

“I wanted to talk. I’d have given up anything to exchange two words with you that day, Harry. Would have given my life for one touch.”

God, that is so sweet, but sweet doesn’t amount to practical, not while Zayn is suffering.

“You can talk to me, Zayn. I’m not nearly as self-absorbed as people think I am.”

Something flares in Zayn’ eyes. Something hot and knowing that says there will be no need for talking, baby, because that’s not what we’ve been doing here, is it? and Harry is ashamed at the warmth in his chest that spells relief. Just like when he found out that his step-dad was already dead and he wouldn’t have to face watching the only father he’d ever known die. He’d offered his shoulder to his mum and sister, but when push comes to shove, he isn’t sure he is strong enough to handle Zayn’s truth. It is one thing to hear about it second hand from Zayn, read some distant news reports. They’ve never really spoken about Zayn’s feelings when in the band, but Harry has always feared his demons run deep. Getting in the emotional dirt with the guy presents a whole set of complications Harry can do without right now.

Sex he can do. Deep isn’t really in his wheelhouse.

Zayn seems to sense Harry’s hesitation. He reaches for him and Harry goes like the coward he is. He slants his mouth over Zayn’s and it’s good, so fucking good, and if it can always be like this, Harry is ready to risk a million things for this boy.

But that is a compromise, taking the easy way out and burying the shit in the litter box. This is the guy Harry loves, and God, how he loves him.

Breaking the kiss, he gentles Zayn back and runs a hand over his cheek. On his temple and the side of his face. On his torso covering the right side of his rib cage. He comes to rest over his heart, which he suspects is scarred.

“Tell me about your childhood.”

 

 

 

Zayn glares at Harry, willing him to back down. To just let it go. “I went to school. Not much to tell.”

“You had friends, right?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about them.”

“I had a couple of friends. They lived on the same street as me. I wasn’t allowed to hang out with them until the weekends so I didn’t get to…”

“Why not?”

“What?”

“What couldn’t you see them until weekends?”

“Oh. Baba wouldn’t allow it. I had chores to do after school. Then I had homework at night.”

Harry frowns. “And in the summer?”

“In the summer, there were chores during the day. And I got sent to my grandparents’ farm a lot.”

“Bet that was fun.”

Zayn’s lips curl up remembering the times on the farm, some of the best – only – good memories of his childhood. “It was, actually. My grandpa taught me to ride a tractor and they had horses. My grandma taught me to bake pies from scratch…”

Harry leans his head sideways. “When are you going to make me a pie, Zayn?”

He nudges his shoulder at Harry. “You were supposed to cook for me, remember? It’s your turn now, innit?”

“I’ll make you dinner if you bake a pie.”

“I don’t cook for anyone.”

“But you’ll bake for me, yeah?”

Sometimes Harry is like a kid. Exasperating. But it’s one of the things Zayn loves most about him. “We’ll talk about it.”

“So, your dad was strict?”

Zayn snorts. “That’s an understatement. He ruled our house. He had a temper. He had to be in control. He still does. And he has strict ideas about what’s right and what’s not. So, this….” he gestures towards both of them. “This is unforgivable, according to him.”

“I’m sorry about your dad, Zayn.”

Zayn shrugs and tries to pull away from him, but Harry doesn’t let go of his hand. “It wasn’t that bad. I managed just fine.”

“It sounds like a nightmare.”

Zayn doesn’t want to answer, but something compels him. “It was hell.”

“But you survived it. And knowing who you are now, I’d bet he can’t control you anymore.”

“That’s why I didn’t use to go home as much as you four.”

They are quiet for a while and it’s as if Harry has nothing to say, or doesn’t know what to say. Zayn doesn’t blame him.

“This was a mistake.” Zayn jerks his hand back from Harry’s and takes a few steps back, stumbling slightly on the stairs.

Harry follows behind, not ready to give up. “Zayn, you’re going to have to stop being a fuckin’ baby and deal.”

“You don’t get it, Harry.” Zayn hisses. “I used to have panic attacks. Really really bad ones.”

Harry nods dumbly, his eyes so dark the pupils absorb all that sparkly green. Tough, Harry. You wanted to hear this.

“They felt like death. No, I guess, death would have felt better.”

Harry has gone chalk white. “After One Direction?”

“Yeah. I would wake up in the middle of the night, sweating. There would be a horrible feeling like a pit in my stomach. Even if I wouldn’t have eaten anything throughout the day, I’d feel sick, need to throw up. But sometimes I’d think I was still in the tour bus or maybe in a hotel, and I’d think I’d wake one of you lads up, you know. But nobody’s there, yeah? I’m all alone. So, I would just puke my guts out.”

“Don’t think any of us idiots would have been of much help in a crisis.” Harry smiles, but it crumbles around the edges and the effort he is putting in melts Zayn’ heart. Hell, he actually thinks this is fixable. “It’s okay to need someone, to rely on someone.”

“I’ll hurt you. Just like I did a few minutes back.”

“I’ll be in bubble wrap. We can do this.”

“Harry, I’m a grenade with the pin pulled. I will hurt you. Maybe not this week or next, but eventually I’ll say or do something and it’ll be over. Just like that. Or worse, I’ll leave. Because I won’t be able to help it.”

A vehement shake of Harry’s head is his response. “We’ll see a therapist. Together. Deal with it. Together.”

After all he’s just told him, this beautiful idiot still sees the possibilities. Time to shut that fairy-tale shit down.

“We’re just fucking, Harry. Barely, at that.”

Harry’s face collapses, just plain falls in on itself. Christ, it’s like kicking a puppy.

“I can put up with a lot, Zayn. You wouldn’t believe what I can endure. I can get us through this—”

“What would you know about enduring anything, Harry? You’ve got this perfect life and family and nothing bothers you. You think everything can be fixed with a long talk and a longer fuck and the happy sappy world will love you right back.”

There it is. That face of pain changes to fury. Good. About time the perfect popstar gets pissed about something. It has taken Zayn a deep dig into his reserves of asshole to make it happen. He braces for Harry to go off the reservation.

But as always, this is the guy who refuses to follow the script.

“You’re right.” This time, Harry is the one who takes three steps away from Zayn.

“Harry—”

He holds a hand up and cuts his eyes to Zayn’s, sharper than he has ever seen them. “You’re right, Zayn. I can’t possibly appreciate what you went through because I’ve lived a truly blessed life. Yeah, it was shitty when you left the band, but I landed on my feet with the movie and the album. And while I’ve lost people I care about, my family was there to pull me through. On balance, I am one lucky bastard.”

He takes a couple more steps away from Zayn “I love being a who I am today and dancing in bars with hot guys and hanging with my family and friends. I’m not especially deep, I’ve got a pretty high opinion of myself, and I don’t take my life too seriously.” His gaze rises to Zayn’s body and continues up to his face. “You’ve always had it in your head that a boy like you has nothing to offer a boy like me, but really it’s the other way around. You never saw me as partner material. You never saw me as worthy to share your troubles with. I’m just the guy who was once in a band with you, a great fuck who’s good for the short term, but God knows you don’t take that home to meet the parents.”

While Harry backs even farther away from him, Zayn tries to seek the right words to smooth this over. Go back to the fun and flirting of before. As usual, he has nothing. The twin emotions of humiliation and failure duels in his chest.

And something else. The painful knowledge that Harry is right.

Harry shakes his head as if unsure of his next few words and hooks Zayn with that clear green gaze. “My heart beats faster when I’m with you, but it’s probably just overactive hormones or my dick running the show. I could tell you I’m in love but you’d just say I’m crazy to even think it.”

He makes a gesture with his hands as though he can’t quite believe that it’s over.

It is over.

Soft thuds on the floor with his Chelsea boots are his soundtrack to the door, and then there is a squeak as Harry turns quickly and pounds back. Those green eyes blaze and that miracle mouth twitches before it moves softly over Zayn’ lips. So fast it feels like it never happened.

“Fuck, I’m going to say it anyway. I love you, Zayn Malik. It doesn’t make any sense and it doesn’t make me feel as good as it should, but I love you. I only wish you could believe in this, in us, the way I do. Say you might hurt me by leaving or saying something you don’t mean, but we both know those are just excuses. The real reason is that you don’t think you deserve to be loved, and if that’s your attitude, then you’re going to spend your life settling for second best.” His smile, sad and beautiful at once, shreds Zayn’ lungs. “I’d like to say it’s been fun, but it hasn’t. Not really. Maybe fun is overrated. Maybe this is supposed to feel messy and raw and painful.”

He strides to the door, a little less swagger than usual, his feet shuffling restlessly. Just seeing that vulnerability, that hint of imperfection, from the usual flawless popstar slices Zayn in half.

Harry turns, his hand on the doorknob. “Hey, how many people can say they had an affair with Zayn fucking Malik? Twice in their lifetimes. Not a lot, probably. Take care of yourself, Zayn.” And then he is gone.

Zayn raises two fingers to his mouth, trying to hold on to the warmth of Harry’s last kiss. But his lips are already cold. Unlike a nightmare, where all he had to do was open his eyes to make the bad things go away, there was no escaping this one.

 

 

 

**Six Months Later….**

“Not interested.”

“You haven’t even heard what I’m asking.”

“Don’t need to.” Zayn Malik leans down and unbuckles Rita’s saddle and hefts it off the horse’s back. They’ve had a good run today, the hot sun making it impossible to think too hard about anything other than whether a human being can roast alive. He hasn’t yet, so that puts the odds ever so slightly in his favour.

All he wants is to finish here and head back to his place for a cold shower and an even colder beer.

It would just fucking figure that the universe has other ideas. He glances up, but Bella Hadid hasn’t moved. In fact, with her arms crossed over her chest and her chin up, all signs point to this adding up to an argument he can’t possibly win.

Damn it.

“No.”

She frowns harder. “It’s your birthday. You can’t just sit at home by yourself.”

“Since it’s my birthday, this is the one day a year I should be able to do exactly that with no one bitching at me.” He regrets the harsh words almost as soon as they are out of his mouth, but Bella isn’t like her older sister, Gigi. She is meaner than a rattler and twice as likely to bite.

She narrows her eyes at him. “We all miss you.”

“I don’t even know who you mean by ‘all’.”

“This is your birthday.” Bella sighs and rolls her eyes, looking put-upon. “Look, it goes like this — Gigi has worked really hard to put together a surprise birthday party for you, and if you don’t show up to be surprised, she’s going to be crushed.”

He stares. “I don’t want a surprise birthday party.” The fact that it is no longer a surprise says a whole lot about Bella’s priorities, and he can’t blame her for that.

“Look at my face. This is the face of a woman who doesn’t give two fucks what you care about. What I care about is Gigi, and that means you’re going to go shower off the smell of that animal and show up at her apartment in an hour, right on time.” She pauses, her brows slanting down in an expression that is downright forbidding. “You helped me out not too long ago, so I’m going to do you a solid and give you the lowdown. Ready?”

Fuck, no. “Sure.”

“Gigi is worried about you. Really worried. If you don’t show up tonight, she’s going to take that as a sign to go forward with plan B.”

He knows he is going to regret it, but he still asks, “What’s plan B?”

Bella gives a tight smile. “A full-scale intervention with everyone in your life, including your mum and sisters. The kind where they sit you down in a circle and each speaks their mind in the most uncomfortable way possible until you’re ready to beg the ground to swallow you whole.” Her smile dims. “She’s worried about you, Zayn.”

Everyone seems worried about him, though they usually do him the courtesy of at least trying to hide the looks exchanged when they think he isn’t looking. The whispered conversations with his friends in New York, more like Gigi’s friends. The never-ending work that is only there because they are throwing him a goddamn bone by asking people in the fashion industry to work with him. It doesn’t seem to matter that he hasn’t done anything requiring an intervention. He’s just stopped enjoying the company of people, mostly because he is such a shitty company these days.

He grabs the curry brush and goes over Rita’s back. Bella is right. Showing up to a party he doesn’t want on a day he sure as fuck doesn’t feel like celebrating is vastly preferable to the alternative. “Explain to me what the plan is.”

She gives a grin that does nothing to reassure him. “Dinner and drinks. It’ll be nice. Liam and Niall miss you. Niall’s bringing Hailee and Gigi invited Kendall because she didn’t want to spend another night at home watching Kylie and Stormi.”

“I saw Niall and Liam just last week.” Both of them had visited Zayn’s flat, with Louis in tow, in the context of “being in the city” and something about “almost having the band back together.” It felt right to have Niall back, to have Liam there, to listen to Louis bitch all day long, but at the same time, it is a constant reminder that they are a man short.

And it is his fault.

“It’s different and you know it,” Bella continues, obviously enjoying how miserable he is. She’s always been a mean one, which never failed to amuse him because Gigi is her polar opposite — as bright and happy as a spring day. Rita shifts in her stall, and Bella goes even paler than she is normally. “Dinner starts at six. Don’t be late.” Then she is gone, moving at a clip fast enough that a less cautious man than Zayn would call it running.

He waits a good five minutes before he follows, hauling the saddle into the tack room and sorting out the bridle. He doesn’t begrudge Niall his happiness—or Liam, for that matter—but sometimes it sure as fuck is hard to be around them and their women.

He heads for his car and takes the pitted dirt road leading around the edge of his property back into the city.

The shower does nothing to ward off the feeling of pending doom. It isn’t that he doesn’t like Gigi or Hailee or even Kendall or whoever the fuck else is going to be at this damn party, but he isn’t in the partying sort of mood. Truth be told, he hasn’t been in that mood ever since he’s left London and flown back to New York. It is almost enough to make him call the whole thing off, but the knowledge that Gigi would have no problem bringing the party to him gets him moving again. Not to mention the potential intervention he needs like he needs a hole in the head.

At least if he goes there, he can hang out for the appropriate amount of time, make his excuses, and slip out while everyone else is occupied. Two hours tops.

Feeling significantly better, he pulls on a pair of his favourite old jeans and a T-shirt and grabs his keys. It strikes him as he walks out the door that he is twenty-fucking-six years old. How the hell did that happen? He shakes his head. He knows damn well how that happened. One day turned into a week, a month, a year, a decade. All while he keeps on keeping, the world changing around him, but never changing enough.

He glances at his watch. “Two hours starts when I get there.”

 

 

 

Zayn figures out the entire party is a mistake ten minutes in, which is right around the time Niall and Liam walk in the door with a motherfucking puppy. He shakes his head, backing away. “No.”

“Yep.” Niall grins.

Then he makes the mistake of looking at the dog in Liam’s arms. The big man dwarfs the tiny pup, which has to contribute to how cute the little fella is. He is a border collie and had big blue eyes and a patchy fur colouring that is black, brown, and white. His left ear flops down, and if he isn’t the cutest little thing…

Goddamn it.

“I don’t want a dog.” His heart isn’t really in the protest, though, so when Liam offers the pup, Zayn takes him. The pup immediately scrambles up against him and licks his chin. “Though he’s cute. In fact, the last thing I need is cute things prancing around my flat.”

Niall gets a funny look on his face, one Zayn would definitely call guilty. “Yeah, well, about that. Brace yourself.”

He doesn’t get a chance to ask what the fuck his friend means by that because the front door opens behind him and Bella’s voice rings out, “Hey, I’m here.”

“Hey, baby.” But Liam’s voice isn’t quite right, and he is looking over Zayn’s right shoulder when Bella is clearly behind his left.

For one eternal moment, Zayn considers shouldering past his friends and walking out the back door. Whatever put that look on Liam and Niall’s faces isn’t something he wants to deal with. They almost look like they’ve seen a ghost.

But his mum hasn’t raised a coward, so he takes a deep breath and turns around.

And freezes.

 He looks the same.

Zayn blinks, but Harry Styles doesn’t disappear. He stands at the doorway, his hand in Kendall’s, looking as shell-shocked as Zayn feels.

Harry flinches, which is answer enough. Zayn can’t blame anyone but himself. He was the one who had left. Again. Without telling Harry. Again. He fucked everything beyond recognition.

Harry recovers quickly, offering him a small, sad smile. “Hey, Zayn.”

“What are you doing here?” It comes out too harsh, but he doesn’t take the words back. He didn’t leave London just to have to see Harry again after six months. He didn’t spend those six months knocking back glasses of scotch and exhausting a year’s supply of weed just to be stone cold sober when he sees Harry. And he definitely didn’t postpone the release of his album because he couldn’t get his words out on paper, just to have them swimming in his head at the sight of Harry.

He turns to Niall, furious because he knows Niall has seen Harry recently at the Jingle Ball. “What the fuck did you do?”

You should be thanking him.

Fuck that. Harry doesn’t want to be here. If he did, he would have come back before now.

Niall holds up his hands. “Don’t look at me. This isn’t my style, and you know it.”

He has a point. Both his friends are more direct than to pull some shit like this. Gigi, though… Zayn turns to glare at her. “This is out of line — even for you.”

For her part, she doesn’t look the least bit repentant. She props her hands on her hips. “Fun fact — Harry is a grown man who’s more than capable of making his own decisions. Kendall mentioned him being in town and I was polite enough to invite him along. I didn’t kidnap him.” She motions at Harry. “Tell him I didn’t kidnap you.”

Despite everything going on around them, Harry bursts out laughing. Zayn’s chest gives a lurch. Fuck, the man’s laugh could still do a number on him.

Harry shakes his head, still laughing. “I can attest that I drove here of my own free will. I take no responsibility for what conversation Gigi had with Kendall. Apparently, Gigi is a hard girl to say no to.” He pins Zayn in place with those green eyes. “Happy birthday, Zee.”

No one has called him that in…well, hell, a long time. Hearing it on Harry’s lips nearly has him crossing the room to him and seeing what else is the same. Common sense stops him cold. Whatever has brought Harry to New York, he isn’t here for Zayn. There is no forgiving what he’s done, and he’d be worse than a fool to forget that.

It takes everything he has to dredge up a half-hearted smile. “Thanks.”

The pup wiggles in his arms and gives a mournful whine. He takes the excuse to get the hell out of there. “Be back in a bit.” He has no intention of coming back. Forget worrying about being cowardly—the last thing he wants to do is stand in a room with Harry Styles and make small talk. As much as the sight of him is like a rain after a long drought, there is too much shit between them.

Harry should have stayed away. Whatever brought him here, it could have been avoided.

He sets the pup down in the yard and crouches next to her, watching her run back and forth, still in the awkward stage where her paws seemed too big for her body. She really is a cutie. She is also going to need a name. “How about Ollie?”

“I like it.”

Zayn turns to find Harry standing behind him. Again. “You sure move quietly when you want to.”

“Best to give you no time to prepare your answers.” Of course, he knows what Zayn meant.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Harry leverages himself down next to Zayn.

Zayn almost curses. “Harry—”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Zayn is so surprised by the question that he answers honestly, “Why the fuck would I bother?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because you don’t want to be a creepy old man who lives in the middle of nowhere and has to run off silly high school kids with his shotgun because they tell ghost stories about him?”

He looks at Harry, half sure that he is the one who’s lost his damn mind. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is most definitely a thing.” Harry leans back on his hands and stares at the sky. “You’re too young to just give up.”

“It’s not about giving up.” Though he doesn’t expect Harry to understand that.

Harry shifts to look at him. “It looks like giving up from where I’m sitting.” He continues before Zayn can respond, not that he knows what the fuck he is supposed to say to that. “Are you happy?”

What the hell kind of question is that? “I’m getting by.”

“That pretty much answers that.” Harry gives him a bittersweet smile. “I should have come back before now to check on you — or at least knock some sense into you since apparently, you need some tough love.”

Check on him like he was Harry’s responsibility. “You worry about your own life and leave me to worry about mine.”

“Because you’re doing such a stand-up job of living it?”

He glares. “What in the fuck is that supposed to mean? It’s great that you’re happy — better than great. You deserve that and more. How I go about my business isn’t any of yours.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Harry sighs, the sound so small that Zayn wants to hug him. His body still remembers the feel of Harry’s and craves it like crazy. He just hasn’t been aware of it until Harry is sat here next to him.

That’s a goddamn lie.

The truth is he’s never stopped craving Harry in his arms and in his bed. He’s just stopped deserving him around the time he realized that he couldn’t risk it all for Harry and be broken once again, that he is too much of a coward to take that chance.

Needing to get them onto solid ground — though Zayn doubts that is a possibility at all — he says, “What’s brought you to New York?”

“Work. Sort of. I’m producing a TV show, which is being shot here.” Harry rubs his forehead, as if uncomfortable with what he is about to say. “It’s not doing too well, so Jeff wanted me to drop in to visit the set. You know for the optics. Or whatever.”

So Harry isn’t here for Zayn. Which is exactly how it should be in the first place. The truth is that any possibility of a future between him and Harry is completely and totally dead.

 

 


End file.
